The Stupid School Project
by MorriganFearn
Summary: Marie Alder, Rogue Writer, and St. John Allerdyce want to complete their English project in style. They're going to write about their friends as superheroes. But if they uncover something painful? Do they write about it, or let things go? Powerless AU.
1. Tuesday, September 2nd

**Author's Note**: What would it be like if someone had written X-Men: Evo basing it off of experiences from their daily lives? That's what Marie Alder, the Rogue Writer, and St. John Allerdyce set out to do. But what happens if they uncover one of their friend's tangled past? Do they write about it, or let things go? SSP is a powerless AU, where angsty teens learn the meaning of friendship, and uncover the deep dark secrets of their sleepy town. Really. Unfortunately, their lives seem to be mirroring the lives of some kids who go to Bayville high on another earth. Too bad that they don't have the abilities to get them out of the events and drama.

This is a revamp of the original SSP, mainly modifications to my horrible writing of 2005, and chapter consolidation. For those of you returning to the fic there might be a few new paragraphs, or some deleted scenes. For the new people, yay, you get to see shiny new glory! I have not removed the accents from the beginning, but be aware that they peter out as my writing continues.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept.

* * *

**Year of (ex)Change—also entitled: Our Stupid School Project**

by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

* * *

The sky was a clear and uncompromising blue. Light wisps of clouds darted across it. Autumn could be felt in the cool, crisp smell on the air. None of the leaves had turned yet, but it was going to happen, and the world knew it. The sound of laughing children came from behind the high walls of the local elementary school. Of course, only the youngest children were excited by the prospect of a new school year. At the high school, everyone was in possession of better sense. Still, cars filled Bayville High's parking lot.

It was eight o'clock on a Tuesday morning in September. In this sleepy little town just off Long Island Sound this meant that everyone was getting to work, going to school, and wishing that it was yesterday because they hadn't gotten enough rest on Labor Day.

Mayor Kelly sat in his office reading reports and memos. Principal Darkholme was looking out the window at the mass of students ready to start another fun filled school day after their three day week-end. Professor Xavier was sifting through the mountains of applications to his private school for the spring semester. In a bar somewhere on the outskirts of town a man known only as Logan was happily drinking away his liver. In front of the imposing doors of Bayville High School everyone was quickly separating into cliques.

A group that sat in the shadow of the steps turned on a boom box and listened as heavy metal flooded over them. Occasionally one broke into air guitar, and had to be pulled back into cool apathy. They sneered at the group of jocks that walked past laughing about try-outs. The group of cheerleaders that floated by stopped to look at the overly made up and darkly outfitted group. One of the perky girls whispered something to her friends. The girls broke out into a simultaneous giggle. They moved on to catch up with the jocks, stopping along the way to pose for a yearbook photographer.

Several skateboarders weaved through the crowds, laughing with each other. They started an impromptu contest. The winner was decided when one of the boarders grinded down the hand rail for the school steps and stole a soccer star's orange juice. The star just rolled her green eyes and continued her conversation with her teammates. Evan Daniels was a bit of a pest, even for a freshman, but not worth getting angry at, he would only turn it into a joke with his good friend, Kurt, anyway. If that happened, Jean, who had to live with Kurt, would never hear the end of it. Besides, hanging out with her friends while regaling them with tales of her victory at last night's unofficial game with Center Island's high school was much more interesting. Jean smiled at one of the football players who joined their group, the Adonis-like Duncan Matthews[1].

No one noticed the glare that they were getting from the crowd that was interested in cars. The glares were being divided evenly between Bayville's quarter back and the Russian exchange student, who was chatting up the perky idol of the computer classes. The cause of the tension could not have been simpler. Almost every division of the high school was divided on who was prettier, Katherine Pryde, amateur hacker, or Jean Grey, soccer super star. Unfortunately for Kitty, she was less popular with the girls, and had this horrible tendency to do all of her homework on time. Despite the bubbliness and sweet disposition, there were rumors that she was a geek.

One of the members of the track team jogged past Katherine and quickly tweaked her pony tail, staying only long enough on the scene for the computer genius to recognize him. She glared at him and her tall and chunky side of Russian growled deep in his throat. The track member gave an unrepentant smirk, and with a cocky wave he vanished into the crowd. He ran past the Goths only stopping long enough to ask the obvious leader of the outcast group what color she was going to be dying her hair today. She snarled at him, flipped her naturally white forelock out of her face, and turned the heavy metal up louder. Pietro Maximoff was both a good friend, and reigning king of Jerk Mountain.

However, the Goth queen Rogue managed to find a more suitable target for her ire within a few seconds. A pair of boys, one black haired and laughing, the other orange haired, and scribbling in a notebook walked up the sidewalk together. Her glare magnified itself by three hundred and focused on the black haired boy as he gestured wildly. Some people got everything handed to them on a silver platter. The object of her dislike was one of them. He had it all, a loving mother, friends who weren't constantly waiting for him to show a sign of weakness, and good grades.

Kurt Darkholme had everything that should have been hers, and Rogue wanted it back, plus some vengeance. What did it matter if she did not actually know him? He was, in her honest, unbiased opinion, pure evil. Him and Jean Grey. Two of the perfect little students at Xavier's Academy for Gifted Students. It was basically a place for the geek crowd to hang out. They went to school with the other mortals, but they got a step up on the academic ladder. They could get into any programs they wanted. They were all rich supercilious dorks.

She knew that this guy was the principal's own son and she couldn't do anything to him without receiving a monumental detention. Not to mention the flak she'd get from her adoptive mother, Irene, about how she should treat her little brother with respect.

"Hey, sheila, couldn't help noticing that you were staring at us. Well, glaring at us. Hopefully more at me than my little buddy, who, hey where'd he run off to?" the guy with the notebook to whom Darkholme had been talking to looked around wildly.

He had a thick Australian accent and the Goth girl remembered she had heard something about some guy from Sydney coming to Bayville on an exchange program. He was supposedly staying with the Xavier prodigies, just like Russian over there by Pryde of computers, and Betsy--who was actually fairly cool, in Rogue's opinion. Still, stranger or not, Rogue did not see why this was an invitation for the guy to spread his blinding orange cooties everywhere. Had she asked the geek to come over? No. Rogue was too cool for that, and he had better learn it.

"Buzz off, crocodile hunter. We don' lahk yahr kind ovah here," she sneered.

"Hey, not my problem, you were the one who was staring," he was still writing stuff down in his note book while looking around for his vanished companion. The Goths didn't bother to tell him that it was doubtful that any of Xavier's people would come within ten yards of one of them. This stranger would learn soon enough.

The bell rung sharply and everyone made their way into the school building. No homeroom for the juniors and seniors often made them forget about the mass of obedient freshman and sophomores that they had to compete with in the halls. Most students tried to stay in their cliques, but classes forced them together, making the crowd rush and separate before doors and various hallways. The Goth leader noticed that the Australian was following her into class as she rounded the doorway. Oh, fantastic.

She looked at the cards on all of the desks. Her English teacher believed in assigned seats and had arranged them so that they were in alphabetical order by last name. Alder, Alder, where was Alder? She had found Allerdyce, funny name and not one that she knew. Ah, here was Alder, Marie, right in front of Allerdyce, St. John.

She slid into her seat and prepared to be bored. This teacher believed in Shakespeare, among other things. He also was interested in end of year creative projects. Those Marie didn't mind so much, she like to get her feelings down on paper, but she didn't like sharing them with the class.

An eraser tapped her in the back of her neck and she swung around to glare at the grinning visage of Allerdyce, St. John. Oh no, not that stupid Australian. That was it, fate was conspiring against her. John leaned over her shoulder and read her name card before she had time to stop him.

"So, you're a Marie. Funny, I thought that you would have a name with more X's and Z's than that. You know something like Xena, or Zelda."

Rogue chose to ignore him. She liked English well enough, despite being fed up with Shakespeare, and just because an annoying weirdo who did not understand the bounds of social conventions had decided to crash the party did not mean that she had to care. Marie stared straight ahead until the teacher, Mr. McCoy, entered the classroom with a flourish of lab coat. The guy was the teaching equivalent to a Jack of all trades, he taught a bit of history, English, Latin, chemistry, and subbed for the gym teachers.

He started off quoting Shakespeare, everything was normal. They spent the rest of the class dissecting the summer reading by Oscar Wilde, _The Portrait of Dorian Grey_. Marie grudgingly admitted that St. John, what ever else he was, had a real talent for English.

Fifteen minutes before class ended Mr. McCoy told everyone that they would be doing an end of term project. The difference this year from other years was that they would be doing it with a partner. The he told everyone in the front and third rows to be partners with the person sitting directly behind them.

Marie felt like hitting herself with her history text book, easily the heaviest thing in her back pack, as she looked at John's grinning face. Her final grade for the year depended on this loon?

* * *

The rest of Marie's day wasn't going too well either. John turned out to be in three out of her four classes. What made the situation worse was that Scott Summers was in two of those classes. She had no wish for John to find out that she had a stupid crush on Jean Grey obsessed Scott Summers. It was a vain hope.

Her last class of the day was drama, which she shared with Scott, and now John. On the upside, she also shared it with the only people who she felt were OK to hang out with and weren't Goths. She hung out with the Goth crowd for image; she hung out with these guys for the friendship that only being slightly too weird for any other group gave people. Like her, they all had other cliques that they hung out with, but they were always on the edge of them, even though Lance, Pietro, and Marie practically ran their cliques. Lance Alvers was the co-leader of the car nuts (the other leader was Scott Summers). Pietro Maximoff was on the track team, basket ball team, and soccer team. Todd 'Toady' Tolensky was a pick pocket and tended to hang out with the rappers. Fred Dukes was part of the wrestling team. Then there was Marie Alder, Goth and sci-fi writer, Ice Queen and Rogue. That neatly finished out their little group of freaks.

There was one other thing that had brought them all together, other than being absolute outsiders. They all hated and loathed the Xavier Kids. So Marie could probably lose John, who stuck to her like an annoying limpet during their classes together, by virtue of the fact that he was one of the annoying Xavier's Students, now.

As she came into class she caught onto the end of a heated debate that was going on between the overweight Freddy and the stocky Lance.

"There is no way that Kitty is more attractive than Jean," Fred told Lance, "First of all; Kitty barely has two neutrons to fire together in that fluffy bunny infested brain of hers. Jean is the most intelligent girl in Bayville."

"Yeah, right," Lance retorted, "Jean's the shallowest girl that Bayville has ever seen. Kitty is way more intelligent. You can't be a hacker if you are not intelligent. Her pink bubbly side is just an act. Look, why don't we get an unbiased opinion?"

Squeegeeing some earwax from his ear, Todd just rolled his eyes. "There's no way, yo, that we are gonna find an unbiased opinion on this subject. All of the girls in school are friends with either Kitty or Jean. And all of the guys are in love with the two of them."

"Oh, we know someone with an untainted opinion," Lance said calmly. "Hey, Rogue, who's better: Kitty or Jean?"

Marie walked up to her friends. John followed, she ground her teeth. Honestly wasn't he going to leave her alone for one minute? He had been using her as some sort of anchor in Chemistry, as well.

However, before she could express her opinion, Pietro swept in, grinning craftily. "Oh, no. You two can't call Rogue untainted. She's biased towards Kitty 'cause Jean's got Scott's heart in her back pocket. And we all know how the charming Queen of Ice feels about Summers's love," Pietro made a mock bow over Marie's hand and mumbled the words: "Oh, Majesty, I am afraid that I must inform you that King Summers has fallen in love with Queen Grey's undying beauty. My sweet Rogue, pearl of my eye, how may we revenge thee?"

Seem this as a good opportunity as any, Rogue jerked her head as the bouncing St. John. "By getting this creepy Aussie tah stop followin' me 'round, lab rat."

"Oh Southern Belle, how happily we shall do this for you, oh great lady of--"

"An' yah kin stop callin' me stupid names. We ain't in the middle of the Dark Ages yah know."

Pietro stepped back from his friend grinning mischievously. His eyes darted to the uncomprehending John.

"Uh, who's 'Rogue', mate?" John looked as if he was questioning Pietro's sanity.

"Oh, Saintly Lady, have you not even told this utter commoner your nom de plume?" Pietro stopped short with his theatrics as he saw the threat in Rogue's eyes, "This, my Aussie friend, is Marie Alder, though among friends she goes by the name of The Rogue. Now, why don't you go and sit down with your own kind?" the table where both Scott Summers and the giant Russian sat was indicated with a jerk of Pietro's thumb.

"Anyway," Lance continued, even though John had yet to leave the vicinity, "Rogue, you're about as close as we will come to an unbiased opinion. So who is better: Kitty, or Jean?"

Considering her answer, Marie slid into an empty seat at the circular table. "Well, Jean's more attractive, but Kitty has the better personality. They are both Xavier's ovah achievers, but Jean plays powah games with her boys, where as Kitty has yet tah chose one. Howevah, she's been awful chatty with that Russian--Ah think that Ah have tah chose Kitty, but personally Ah don't think that eithah of yah are fallin' in love with the right girls."

"Masterfully decided, Rogue," Pietro took center stage again. He really couldn't resist being in the spot light. "Now, on to the next question that we needed decided by an unbiased authority. Who's hotter: Lance or me?"

"Yah, 'Tro. Yahr second place on the hottest guy in school poll that is goin' on the girl's bathroom wall," Marie grinned at the miffed expression that appeared on Pietro's face.

"Second place. Second place! Who's first?"

"Hi, Scott," Rogue waved over at the sunglasses toting boy, enjoying the look of jealousy that suffused Pietro's face.

"I came in second to Sergeant Summers? There's no way--Arrrgggh, those X-Kids get everything."

"What are 'X-Kids'?" Rogue made quote signs with her fingers.

"What we're now calling those freaks that hang out at that private school. X is short for Xavier, see?" Lance told her, "Am I in that poll at all?" he looked hopeful.

"Yeah, yah came in fourth. Just after tall, dark, an' Russian. Hey, we'd better get tah our seats. John--St. John, whatever you are--what the heck are yah still doin' here?" Rogue glared at her project partner, who was scribbling down stuff in his note book.

Looking up, John favored Rogue with a brilliant grin. "John'll do. And I'm here because like a moth to the flame, you look like you're the most interesting person in the room. And I'm bored. It's a horrible affliction. So, keep me entertained, please?"

Lance took a seat at the back table looking dejected about the fact that he had come in second to Kitty's new flame. They all joined him, even John. Pietro shrugged and the rest of the guys became acquainted with Johnny, but Rogue seethed. The end of class couldn't come quickly enough for Rogue. Johnny had made friends with her friends easier than fish breathed water. As soon as the bell rung she grabbed her bag and bolted for the hall. The other guys stared after her. John started to follow, but was caught by Lance.

"Don't, something's upset her. One of us will deal with it. You don't know her well enough to be able to duck whatever surprise she has coming for you," Lance turned to the rest of the gang, "OK, who stormed out on us last time?"

"Pietro."

"Pietro."

"Yeah, it was me. Remember, I want to be cremated, not buried," Pietro ran after Marie.

"What was that all about, mates?" John felt puzzled. Like anywhere else there were obviously traditions here. He just wanted to understand them.

"We have this thing, rule, whatever. We tend to blow up a lot, so whoever was the last person to blow up has to go and confront the one who has just blown up. It's a means of punishment. Pietro yelled at everyone yesterday, so now he has to go get Rogue and calm her down. If you need us, we'll be off looking for a tombstone for Pietro. The last time Rogue blew up the person sent to calm her down got kicked in the balls," Todd explained, "That girl has serious anger management issues, yo."

"And very good aim," Lance seemed to be speaking from memory. A very painful memory.

John shrugged and walked off in the same direction as Pietro.

* * *

The fall air was crisp and smelled slightly of apples. The trees along the road were few and far between but they always cast the perfect amount of shade. Rogue was sitting under one, looking off into the distance. There was the cliff that marked the end of Bayville and the beginning of Long Island Sound. She remembered going down there over the summer with her guitar, sitting on the cliff edge and just playing it until her life restored itself to normal.

Everything seemed to be going wrong. She wished that she had never allowed Irene to convince her to move up to New York. Bayville was so provincial, and all of the rules had changed. But Marie had wanted to know about her family. Her family was in Bayville. So, Marie had to be in Bayville as well. She had found out about her family. Now her jealousy of them was eating her up inside.

"The view's a lot better closer to the cliff. You can even see the water, you know." Pietro was leaning against her tree. There was only the slightest sheen of sweat to show that he had been running all the way from the school.

She just sat in her pool of shade. Rogue didn't want to talk to anyone, not even one of her best friends. Pietro was used to this. He was good at playing the waiting game. Rogue never liked to say anything. She didn't trust people. He could deal with that, he'd known her for two years, practically since she moved to Bayville. Rogue had never told anyone why she had moved. Pietro didn't care as long as she never asked where he went every second Saturday.

"Why do yah guys lahk John so much?" Marie's sleepy Southern drawl caught him off guard for a second.

"Why shouldn't we like the guy? He's funny, he doesn't seem to have the hang ups about rules that everyone else around here does, and he's got all of these ideas just floating off of him. Plus he's something new, that's something you don't see every day. Especially not around Bayville, we need something to take our minds off what hell it is here. He's just what we need, someone who shakes things up just by being around."

The wind sighed through the trees and some grasshoppers chirped in the short grass leading up to the cliff edge. Pietro played the waiting game some more. It was a game that Marie liked.

"He'll shake things up a bit. But not in a good way. Yah should have seen him in chemistry, it was creepy the way he looked at the Bunsen burner," Marie broke the silence after five minutes of heavy duty contemplation.

"Hey, maybe if we're lucky he's an arsonist. Wouldn't that be nice, seeing the admin section in flames?" he allowed a split second for Marie to contemplate the idea, and then began again. "Can I ask you the question now? Why don't you like John?" Pietro moved slightly so that he was absolutely out of range of Rogue. He had learned the lesson that Lance had brought home to everyone about Rogue, that when the girl was upset you should be in another state.

"Ah don't think that we ought tah be friends with any of the X-Kids, OK?" Marie burst out.

Pietro continued the waiting game. He wanted to know the whole truth. Somehow he couldn't believe that The Rogue was so petty as to think that all people who went to Snobville were not worth the effort to say their name. After all, she seemed to have no problems with Lance's ultimately doomed unrequited crush on Kitty. Plus, there were plenty of didots who did not go to the Institute. Look at Daniels.

"Well, aren't yah gonna say anythin'? Honestly Pietro, sometimes yah just make me crazy," Pietro's fists clenched as Marie said this, and his face became a mask of hatred, but he didn't say anything.

His friend looked up at him as soon as she listened to the words she had just said in the ringing silence, "'Tro, Ah didn't mean that. Ah really didn't. Ah just meant that yah made me really angry."

"Yeah, well you do that to me, too. Sometimes. Just please watch your words--Oh, forget it. Who cares? I mean, it's just a word. You can make it up to me by telling me why you have taken it into your head to hate Johnny. It's a little strange for you; I mean you insisted that we give everyone of those X-Kids the benefit of the doubt, before. Even after Jean Grey decided that she could score some points with her crowd by totally embarrassing you."

"Ah never insisted that we give that Darkholme boy the benefit of the doubt. That's who John was hanging with before he met me. Anyone who hangs out with the Darkholme boy is bad news," Marie brushed her hair back behind her left ear.

That was her unspoken signal to leave. Pietro left her. He still had time to jog a few laps around the park before the Maximoffs were expecting him home. He set off for the park at a sprint. As he continued down the road, he thought that he saw something orange out of the corner of his eye, but dismissed it.

* * *

John walked up to the gates of the school and typed in his security clearance. His mind was still reeling from what he had over heard. He knew that he had flipped his notebook out; he could feel his right hand moving, so the pencil was probably activated. He couldn't get the way that Marie had sounded when she was talking about Kurt out of his head. He had noticed that she wouldn't even say the guy's name, like it would contaminate her or something. What had Kurt done to deserve this girl's enmity?

The boy he was wondering about almost crashed into John as the Australian rounded a corner of the Academy.

"Whoa, get your head out of the clouds, dude. You almost ran me over," Kurt steadied his friend. He looked at John with a worried expression. The Aussie normally looked about as conscious of reality as a sugar high bunny rabbit, now the guy seemed to be grounded in reality. It looked as though reality had been a bit of a depressing let down.

"Hey, Kurt? Have you ever heard of a Goth sheila named Marie?"

Kurt appeared to be fairly confused. "Uh, I don't know man. I try to keep away from the Goth element, you know? I think she's pretty high up in their popularity system, if that helps. Why do you want to know?"

"Uh," John tried to think up a suitable lie, "I was just assigned to do a year end project with her. In English. Is she any good?"

"I told you, I don't know. I haven't heard much about her. She came to visit Mom once when she first came here, I think, but other than that I haven't a clue. But hey, what does it matter? You're some sort of writing genius, right?" John grinned as Kurt put a companionable arm around his shoulders, spreading his other hand as though the sky was the limit.

That was what was great about the shorter kid. Kurt always said the best things about any given person. He could make John feel as though he was the most amazing funny guy on the planet. That he had earned anyone's enmity was weird, to say the least. Oh well, maybe John should just leave well enough alone.

Disentangling himself, the Australian waved at the local boy. "I have a ton of homework to do, see you later."

John walked through the front doors of the mansion. He looked at the foyer and shook his head. It still amazed him that anyone could live like this. There was just so much. Potted plants, most of them were plastic, gilt picture frames, shiny hardwood floors, and that omni-present scent of pine. His room in this place was about the same size of his apartment back home, and he didn't have to share it with an all star brother, or a despairing father.

John walked up the stairs, took a left and went down to the third door. He walked into the spacious room with a sigh of contentment. The window gave a nice view of the cliffs and the sound. He had his own desk and chair. The room had even come furnished with a laptop.

John dumped his books and things down in the chair; he could get to them later. Now he had to figure out what they would be doing for a project. Marie would have her own ideas, so he couldn't start off on that. But, they needed to get together on this as soon as possible. He began to draft a polite note that would get Marie out of her shell long enough to at least start on the darn thing.

* * *

[1] - Shamelessly parodied from _Twilight_. The phrase "marble Adonis" kept me from reading past chapter three. Can you see Duncan Matthews as a possible insane, controlling stalker man?

* * *

Thanks to: ASTG, Locu S. Swarm, Claire, Hanna L., Cheese Simian, RITA, no thanks nora, Flit, misfit010, and Greenhaze of Fire, for providing commentary that helped me to redo these chapters. More reviews are always appreciated.

~ MF


	2. Saturday, September 6th

**Author's Note**: This is a revamp of the original SSP, mainly modifications to my horrible writing of 2004 and 2005, with chapter consolidation. For those of you returning to the fic there might be a few new paragraphs, or some deleted scenes. For the new people, yay, you get to see shiny new glory! I have not removed the accents from the beginning, but be aware that they peter out as my writing continues.

As some of you might be aware, I hate titling things. Probably because I'm not very good at it. I'm also obsessed with continuity, and chronology, so I decided to make each revamped chapter named after the day in which it takes place. That way I can keep chronology, and I don't have to invent titles. Yay! I win!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept.

* * *

**Year of (ex)Change—also entitled: Our Stupid School Project**

by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

* * *

The grass under the tree was springy and soft, slightly longer close in to the trunk than the other neatly clipped grass of the park. John's heavy, black back pack thudded down. It was soon joined by the gangly Australian.

It was just after 2:30 on a Saturday afternoon. The trees had yet to turn color, although Kitty had promised John that they would soon. School had been, well, less than fun for the last week. John had carefully stayed out of Marie's way in every class, except for English, and he couldn't help that. On the up side, it meant that he had learned a lot more about his fellow students at the Freak Academy, but John missed hanging out with Marie's friends.

There was that pragmatic view of life, the simple dynamics of the group, and the strange friendship of its members. All of these things fascinated him. Why, for example, was Pietro, easily the most popular guy in school, hanging out with someone like Todd?

John pulled out his notebook. He looked at the notes he had made, there were a few doodles as well as the spiky handwriting cluttering up those pages. He flipped to a fresh page.

The sun warmed the tree trunk he was leaning against. The bark was rough, which was good because he felt that he was going to fall asleep if he got any more comfortable. There was the sound of young children laughing as they played tag less than 100 feet away. There was the splash of the fountain that greeted people at the entrance to the park.

John realized that his eyes were closed and he snapped them open to look up in to Rogue's heavily made up face. His English partner was glaring down at him. Today she had gone for a stark black and white look; John was surprised that she wasn't turning to bursting into flame every time she came into direct sunlight.

"Well, so, you uh, made it sheila. I thought you weren't going to show," John grinned up at Rogue, hoping to dissipate the omni-present glare.

"Well, that's not mah fault. Yah told me ta meet yah undah the big elm tree near the kiddies playground. Yah weren't there."

"I am, too! How on Earth can you say that I'm not where I am?" John was indignant.

"'Cause this is a maple tree, yah bat blind boy."

John had the grace to look embarrassed. "Look, woodsy stuff isn't my strong point. Let's just say that it was the fact that I can't tell a maple tree from a strawberry tree and move on."

"Strawberries don't grow on trees," Rogue was trying not to smile.

The orange haired boy did not notice, feeling a little put out that Rogue was showing him up as ignorant. "I said let's move on, didn't I?"

Rogue sat down opposite from him. He noticed that she had left a good amount of space between the two of them. He must remember that: she didn't like being near people. It was a good character insight. For Marie's part, she glanced at John's notebook. Why did he always have that thing? No, she didn't want to know. Why should she care about what this stupid Aussie did?

"Have you got any plans for what to do on the project?" John broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah, Ah do," Rogue didn't elaborate.

"And they would be?" John motioned with his hands for her to continue. They casually flitted through the air like the wings of a butterfly.

"Well, the project is that we are supposed to write a novel or short story about teen years, rahght? So, Ah thought that we could write about life in Bayville only AU stahle, yah know?"

"AU?" John was non-plused.

"Yah have got to get out and around to some sci-fi stuff Johnny. AU, as in Alternate Universe," Rogue said very slowly, as if talking to an idiot. "Yah know, where everythin' the same, only different?" Rogue looked over to see the puzzled expression on her partner's face get replaced by a disappointed one, "Not exactly what yah had in mind, huh?"

"Well, I thought that we could do the whole Bayville thing, only we would follow relationships and stuff," John was studying the grass at his feet intently.

"Romance," Rogue choked. She didn't know if it was from laughter or the thought of having her friends make fun of her for the rest of her life, "Yah can't be serious Johnny. Mahndless fluff, that's all it is. Even Miss Perfect Shade of Red Jean Grey doesn't read that Harlequin'ed porridge."

"Hey look," John retorted hotly, "It's what I like to write, OK? What would you have us do? Space Invaders from the Planet Krypton?" he was blushing angrily.

"Naw," Rogue snorted, "Ah have no intention of gettin' sued by _DC Comics_, or whoever it is that ultimately owns _Superman_, for copyright infringement. But Ah do think that we ought tah be doin' a sci-fi. Those thin's are fun tah write.

"Mah idea was more along the lines of symbolism. Look, what does every person feel that they are during those teen-aged years? We all feel that we're freaks at one tahm or another. So, we make our main characters freaks. They have super powahs, and they try tah cope with them, even though they're plain dangerous. It's the perfect metaphor for bein' a teen, we all feel lahk we're powahless and everythin's goin' outta control. For these characters they aren't powahless, but they are totally outta control, no one will listen to them because their freaks, but as they grow up they master their powahs and thin's stop bein' so tense for them. We can use our own friends and enemies as starters for our characters, and work up from there."

John nodded, "I like the idea of using friends and enemies as characters. But I don't think that anyone should know that these people are freaks for a while. It would add to their tension having to keep it a secret from everyone. Oh, and as to our own characters, I can control the AU version of Rogue, and you can control the AU version of Johnny. That way we don't make ourselves perfect Mary Sue's."

"Fahne bah me. What are Mary Sue's?"

"Those characters that are perfect in every way. They've got everyone falling over them and they get everything handed to them on a silver platter. Honestly sheila, you've got to check out romance more often," John couldn't resist using a condescending tone.

Marie chose not to notice her own lines. If she could keep this amicable, maybe it would not be such a pain in the keister. "Oh, yeah, Ah've seen it happen tah some otherwise good stories. So, who should we have do what?"

"Well, I've been taking a few notes about the people around here," John took out his notebook and flipped to a page that had a list of names on it next to some numbers.

Rogue scanned the list. Most of the X-kids were on it. So was one of the football players, a thick set quarterback named Duncan Matthews. There was one of the girls soccer players. Here was one of Kitty's friends, some weirdo computer nerd who called himself Arcade; he probably played Dungeons and Dragons. Rogue noticed her name next to the number 13, something about that set up seemed a little ironic. After her name was a complete list of all of her friends, as well as a few teachers.

She reluctantly handed the note book back. She would have liked to see what 'notes' John had made about her. Or maybe she wouldn't like to see them; they might be a little too accurate for her liking.

"So, we focus on a few of these people, an' expand from there, huh? How are we gonna pick them?" Rogue looked at John with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh, I hadn't really thought that far. Why don't we just pick a couple of people to do the first chapter on? Let's see here, we should have maybe five or six characters. Any more and it will get confusing. We could choose them by running our fingers up and down the list with our eyes closed. Whoever we pick will be who we write about."

"OK, but Ah will be doin' the pickin'. Yah probably know the whole list by heart an' what's the point of having yah eyes closed then?" Rogue shut her eyes and reached out for the notebook with one hand. He passed it to her, being careful to test out his theory about her. As he let the notebook slide into her out stretched hand he carefully brushed her fingers. He noted that she flinched slightly as she felt his contact. Interesting.

The notebook was placed in the grass and Rogue lay on her stomach as John used a highlighter to mark the names that she indicated. Rogue opened her eyes eventually and stared at the names in front of her.

**Scott Summers**

**Jean Grey**

**Kurt Darkholme**

**Professor Xavier**

**Ms. Darkholme**

**Todd Tolensky**

"Hmm, looks lahk what evah we're gonna be writing is gonna star the X-Kids," Rogue didn't look too happy with this.

"Hey, we could always pick again. I mean Jean's nice and all, but neither she nor Summers are very exciting casting material," John tried to appease Rogue.

"That's nahce Johnny, but Ah think that we should stick to what we have here. Ah figure that the Academy is the perfect place for all of the weirdo freaks to hang out. That place is practically a mansion, rahght? So it could be lahk a secret school or somethin'. Hey, look, Ah got guitar lessons in an hour, Ah gotta go. Can yah make a copy of that list for me? I'll see you at school on Monday," Rogue jumped up, grabbed her bag and ran off.

* * *

Thanks to: Raven the Dark Angel, ASTG, Locu S. Swarm, Cheese Simian, and Avatard, for providing commentary that helped me to redo these chapters. More reviews are always appreciated.

~ MF


	3. Chapter 3: Stealing the Silver

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away. 

ASTG~ Thank you for showing me what a stupid little person I am. I was so desperate for sob stories from you guys I completely forgot that there is such a thing as fan sites or legitimate Marvel sites to look up this sort of thing. Thanks for the wake up call, you have no idea how much I owe you. 

Yes, I already had the Jean information, but I didn't know that it had been her telepathy that was triggered. All I knew was that her best friend had died in her arms and then her powers erupted. I had thought that rocks had started flying around her in a telekinetic whirlwind or something. I did not know about the car either. Thank you for setting me straight on this. I would grant you three wishes if I could. 

Cute idea about the way Johnny's powers first emerged. But that's not really a sob story, although the loss of all that wonderful weed.. I found some really good stuff on a fan site dedicated to our dear little fire lover about his childhood. There wasn't anything on marveldirectory, so I'll use the fan stuff even though it's not bona fide. (Just seen 'Oh, Brother Where Art Thou'. Random phrases might be poppin' in from that, even though my favorite quote can't be used because Quickie's not going to be making much of an appearance. C'mon, can't y'all just see him sitting up suddenly and saying 'Muh hair'. Bet almost anything that he'd be a Dapper Dan Man). 

Just what does ASTG stand for anyway? Sorry if it should be obvious, I can be very dense. Anyhoo, I worship the water you walk on and hope that you enjoy this next installment.

Raven the Dark Angel~ Wow, I cannot say this enough, wow. Your review blew me out of the water. Thank you for the romance writing advice. If I ever find the first version of this fic I will rewrite it as a sequel and that will have a teensy drop of romance in it. Not much, but a teensy bit, for the practice. 

I don't think that your story is trying to force Rogue and Remy together, you have them going in totally different directions that, against all the laws of physics, happen to collide sometimes. This is how any relationship with the two of them is supposed to be.

I'm going to have them write the episodes for X-Men Evo, not go off in an AU within an AU direction. I can only take so much of that before my brains start spilling out all over the floor. The whole point of this Fan Fic is for both Rogue and John to learn about what secrets their sleepy town is hiding. I figured that they could find that out as they research the characters that they are writing about. I don't know if you do this, but when I write about any character, even for a fan fic, I do a ton of background checking and reaction analysis before I write. I figure that if Marie and John are doing this as their English final they'd want as much background Info as possible.

I am very happy that you consider my other fic worth advertising for. I am sort of divided on this; I don't want to cheapen your fic by reducing you to advertising mine, but I like reviews. The only people that I know have read it are my friends at school and they can't really say that they think it's horrible when I'm busy staring at them with eyes full of hope. So maybe it's that my fic is horrible and nobody really wants to read it. I must do you a good turn for this immense favor. What can I do for you? Other than send super long reviews on 'Veins of Glass', which I would do anyway. Very glad that I stumbled onto it, by the way. I think that there ought to be more Romy fics out there where Remy and Rogue aren't immediately falling all over each other. Plus you wrote the depression that Rogue falls into very realistically.

I checked my mailbox just before I went to bed because I had forgotten to turn off my computer and thought 'what the hay, I'll see if anyone was kind enough to review on Easter Sunday'. Anyway, I saw both your review and ASTG's sitting there and you would not believe the warm fuzzy I felt when I went to bed that night. They made up for the fact that the next day was going to be Monday and I wasn't sick enough not to go to school. I worship the air that your wings (I assume that you have them, being a dark angel and all) carry you through.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

John passed Rogue several folded up sheets of paper as she slid into her seat only ten seconds before the tardy bell. 

Mr. McCoy had them diagramming sentences today and this was one area of English that Rogue had problems with. She carefully copied down the notes off the board, but her attention always strayed back to the pile of papers that she had carelessly shoved into her back pack.

Chemistry, her next class, didn't allow her any time to take a look at what John had given her. They were now studying the chemical changes brought on by heat. With John as her lab partner Rogue had to divide her attention between the experiment and the Bunsen burner obsessed Saint.

As she left class Scott grabbed her arm. Marie felt a hot rush of blood to her face, but she disentangled herself from his grip almost as soon as she had made it. He pushed his red tinted sunglasses further up his nose and shrugged. Rogue sighed and walked into an alcove where they could speak better.

"Yah wanted somethin' Summers," she tried to make her voice sound harsh and cold. This was the person who couldn't eat or sleep without thinking of Jean Grey, why should he care that an outcast Goth had feelings for him?

"Yeah, what's this John said about you coming over to the Academy after school?" the warm baritone didn't sound too happy.

"What are yah--" Rogue began, but then she stopped. John wanted her to come over, huh? There must have been something in the papers he had handed her about it. Oh well, if he wanted to invite her she might as well come, it would probably be the only time that she would ever get in, "Oh, yeah. Was that tonight? Ah thought it was tomorrah. Thanks for tellin' me Scott, it completely slipped mah mahnd."

"You mean you actually are coming? I thought that it was just a joke.. Why are you coming? I thought that you hated us," Scott looked worried.

"Ah was invited wasn't Ah? What'smattah Sugah? Are yah revokin' mah right tah come?" Rogue grinned at herself, from the expression on Scott's face he was just dying to do that. It hurt that he didn't want her to come over, but if this was his reaction then just think of everyone else's.

"No! No, only the Professor can revoke visiting rights, and he sanctioned John's," The way Scott said the word sanctioned made Rogue think that Scott believed that his 'Professor' had made a serious mistake.

"Hey, look, Ah gotta go. Ah have no intention of bein' late tah mah study hall. See yah in drama, Scott."

Rogue walked off down the hall. She could feel Scott's eyes boring into the back of her head. Honestly, she thought, I'm not going to make off with the sliver while I'm over there. Why does he have to be so mistrustful of me? What have I ever done to him? Well, besides call Jean Grey a slut in front of the whole school, but she deserved it.

"Yo, Rogue? Wakey, wakey Ice Queen," Todd waved a hand in front of her face, "You want to go get a pass to go out of grounds? The screaming siren is givin' them out to everyone who wants to quote unquote 'enjoy the freedom and healthy air outdoors' or somthin' to that effect."

Rogue nodded and walked up to the study hall teacher, Mrs. Syrin. She requested two passes, and headed out to the courtyard with Todd. There were five different trees out here, and Rogue chose the one with the most glass under it, on the assumption that no one else would want it.

Her book bag was laid down with a thwap, and she spread her denim coat over the glass strewn ground. Todd hopped up into the tree, the guy preferred to be up high. He swung down on a branch and held on by only his knees.

"What have you got there, yo?" he indicated the sheaf of papers that Rogue was finally bringing out of her book bag.

"Nothin' really, just some stupid English project I have to work on with Johnny," she brushed a few dirty smears off of the pages.

"Oh, so that's why he has been avoidin' us. I thought it was because he was a no good X-geek," Todd spit and hit a dandelion dead center.

Rogue winced; she hated Todd's annoying habit of spitting at things, though his aim was remarkable. She looked down at the papers. On top was the list; on the same page was a yellow sticky saying that she should meet John at the Institute after school so that she could get to know the characters of the people that they would be writing.

So that was his little game. It was good advice; they could do a lot more if they had two view points instead of just one. Rogue also decided that she would want a blue print of the school. That way she could put in secret training areas and things like that.

She flipped a page; this one seemed to be a bio of Scott. It had his full name, height and age; some general characteristics, like hair and eye color, as well as some personality quirks. Then there was a long section entitled notes. There was still plenty of space at the bottom for further observation.

The next few pages were the bios on Jean Grey, Professor Xavier, Kurt Darkholme, Ms. Darkholme, and one of Todd. The last one she quickly pushed to the back, in case her friend might see it.

So this is what he gathered in that little notebook of his. Well, she would do him one better. Rogue smiled as she patted her book bag. It was good that she had brought her journalism homework to school, after all.

Her smile abruptly vanished as a shadow fell across her face. Todd flipped down from his branch, ignoring the scrapes the glass made on his hands. Jean Grey stood over the two of them. Rogue kept her face calm and neutral.

"Soo, Marie, Scott told me that you were coming over to visit us," Jean sounded like she was keeping herself from yelling with a great effort.

"An' if Ah am?" Rogue didn't bother to hide her disgust.

"So you are. How nice that is for us," Jean plastered her best photogenic fake smile on her face, "It's really wonderful to see that Jonathan has made a friend outside of the Academy."

"An' it's really nahce tah know that _St. John_," Rogue stressed the name hard, "has people who are lookin' out for his safety an' makin' sure that he doesn't make friends with the wrong crowd. After all, ain't it awful when yahr new in town tah find out that the person yah considered yah best friend was really only bein' nahce tah yah tah win some stupid bet!" Rogue spat at Jean.

Two red dots flashed into life on Jean's cheeks and she glared at Rogue.

"Well, at least I don't hang around with some womanizing albino creep, his thick skulled car junkie friend, a walking tub of lard, and a pick pocket Toady freak!" she yelled.

"Hey, at least we don't hang around with a boy who constantly wears sunglasses for his 'image', yo. Though I heard your teammate Taryn say that he looks very sweet with them off, and with a few other things off as well," Todd came to Rogue's rescue.

"What'smattah Red, feelin' jealous?" Rogue nodded, "Just as Ah thought. The only question is: who are yah jealous of? Taryn, or Scott?"

Jean smiled nastily, "Ha. Ha. I'm not jealous of anyone," she sounded like she was on the verge of tears, "I just hope John gets what he's paying for."

Rogue and Todd watched her run off with her arm over her eyes. Crocodile tears, thought Rogue, just the perfect act for everyone who witnessed that scene. Nice and caring Jean Grey is yelled at by the heartless bitch-queen Marie Alder.

"You actually going to the X-Mansion, foo'?" Todd looked at Marie.

"Well, if Ah wasn't before Ah am now. Sweet Jeanie's gonna pay for that last remark," Rogue folded her arms with a look of determination on her face.

"OK, yo. We'd better get in, the bell," the shrilling of the bell cut through Todd's speech, "is gonna ring," he finished with a haphazard smile.

"Naw, really?" Rogue made a sarcastic face, "Hey, thanks for helpin' me out against the Grey Lady, Ah thought Ah was going tah explode when she said that about you, Lance an' everyone."

"Hey, what are friends for, if not to stop a bitch fight?" Todd looked at Rogue as she bent down to pick up her book bag, "Hey, you don't think that Jean was really upset by what you said, do you?"

"Naw, that was just her and her crocodile smile, as they say," Rogue started off to the door that led from the courtyard to the auditorium.

Rogue and Todd chatted about anything that came to mind as they walked along. Rogue knew that she sounded a little desperate as she talked. Like she was resolutely trying not to feel guilty about something.

Freddy called them over and they all took seats at one of the five tables dragged up to the orchestra pit. Lance was already there and Pietro rushed in just before the teacher. John showed up three seconds after the teacher and bout five seconds before the tardy bell.

He slid into his seat and then looked around. There was something missing from this picture. He noticed that Scott was looking around, too.

"Hey, guys have any of you seen Piotr? The big Russian exchange student. Draws a lot. Doesn't talk much," John said in response to the uncomprehending stares that he was getting from the rest of the table, "I talked to him at lunch today but he isn't here. It's not like him to skip a class," John looked worried.

"Nope, haven't seen him. If we're lucky he got deported," Lance said darkly.

"Uh, why's that, Lance? He seemed sortta nice to me," Freddy said in his slow way.

"You didn't hear Kitty during chemistry. It was all 'Piotr's so nice, and kind, and artistic. I wonder if he likes me. He's got really nice legs. I just love his eyes. Did I mention that he was artistic?'" Lance rolled his eyes and then slumped at the table, looking depressed.

Pietro snorted, "Lance, face it, the pretty Kitty is just outta your league. I am a little worried about giant, stupid, and Russian though. Knowing our luck, one of us will be accused of kidnapping him," he glanced over at Rogue, "Is it true that you are getting to go into the X-Geek's secret lair this afternoon, oh implacable Ice Queen?"

"Yeah, Ah didn't know until Summers cornered me in the hallway but Ah guess Ah am. If only because Ah need to see how many others of the X-Freaks are gonna give me the third degree. Ah already got it from Jean and Scott."

"Oh, sorry 'bout that. If I had known that they were gonna grill you I would have kept quiet," John looked a little abashed.

"No problem, they only wanted tah make sure that Ah wasn't gonna make off with the silver," Rogue smiled bitterly.

'Hey, maybe you should make off with the gold instead," Pietro laughed harshly.

Everyone around the table fell silent each thinking their own thoughts about the way the senior students of the Xavier Academy for Gifted Students had automatically assumed that Rogue was up to no good. 

John felt angry at his fellows and ashamed of them. 

Rogue was feeling that it was a sad state when people thought that she would stoop to stealing something. 

Todd was still angry at Jean. 

Freddy couldn't really believe that anyone would suspect any one of their group, except for Todd, of stealing. 

Lance felt that there ought to be some way to get back at Scott and prove to him that Rogue wasn't a thief. 

Pietro was seething inside. He would admit that if he had been the one asked the worries about the silver would have been reasonable, considering some of the stuff he was doing this year. But Rogue was above that sort of thing, she was too proud to steal.

Pietro and Lance exchanged a look. It simply said that the X-Geeks would pay.

The class started and everyone got caught up in the activity. It was one of those improvisation games known as park bench. The only hint of animosity was when both Scott and Lance were up together. Even then, it was broken up by Piotr coming late, without an excuse. That was when Ms. Monroe, the drama teacher, decided to call a halt to the proceedings. This was pretty lucky because Scott and Lance looked like they were about to kill each other.

The rest of the class went on without incident, although it was noted that Scott seemed to become extra clumsy when Pietro was around, tripping over things and knocking into other people. However, after Rogue took Pietro aside during one partner activity and whispered a few things to him (John was pretty certain that he had been able to catch the words 'just 'cause he's a stupid dick head doesn't mean you have to be') Scott miraculously regained his balance.

As the last bell rang and everyone headed for the exit Ms. Monroe called Pietro back to 'discuss a few things'. The rest of the gang waited for him in the hall.

"Excuse me. I vould like to speak vid Ms. Alder, if dis is OK vid you," Piotr the Russian walked up to them and addressed Lance.

"Yeah, it's fahne with me," Rogue pushed past Lance who was grinding his teeth together, "What did yah want tah talk about? If it's about me going to the Academy, yeah Ah'm goin'. Ah've already told two people this today."

"This is not what I am vishing to be speaking vid you about. Could ve talk somevere vere der are no prying ears?" his accent was thick, and Piotr spoke very slowly, as if he didn't wish to startle anyone.

"Yeah, ovah here," Rogue walked over to a window against the strong growls of protests coming form Lance.

"Good. I vas late to class because I found Jean Grey, a housemate of mine, crying in an unused class room. She seemed quite upset. I heard one of her friends say that she had been vid you. I vas vudering vhat happened to make her so upset. She vould not even let her friends come near her," Piotr looked genuinely concerned.

"She started insultin' me, an' Ah decided tah insult her right back," Rogue's face was stoney, "Ah figured it's about tahm that she's the one in tears."

She turned and walked down the corridor. Her back was stiff and she was looking for an excuse to kill something. Lance raised his eyebrow at Todd, who nodded a silent conformation. They all followed their friend out the door into the beautiful autumn sunshine.

Piotr looked after them and then he followed, too.

Pietro risked a peek outside the door and felt relief wash over him when he saw that no one was there. He looked at the sunshine, still enough time to go jogging around the park for fun before going home.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Please review, I need it for inspiration. 

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.

.


	4. Chapter 4: Those Uptight Snobs

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away. 

**To my dear reviewers:**

ASTG~ Thank you for clearing the name thing up. Now, because I am totally clueless, what does POTC stand for? Glad you're a fellow LOTR fan. Yeah, Lance and Johnny have almost no sob stories associated with childhood to teen years. I owe so much to fan sites that live to make up believable pasts. I was beginning to get so desperate that I was actually considering giving John the normal equivalent of the Legacy Virus. I agree with you about Lance versus Dominic. I love Lance so we'll be seeing quite a lot of him when I have John and Marie research the characters for the second 'chapter'.

            quazzee~ Kudos for guessing about the Rogue Darkholme. It won't be happening until they start looking into 'Shadowed Past' but it will happen. Let's just say, as a spoiler, remember what I said about Johnny having 'intentional accidentally overhearing syndrome'? He's going to get into soo much trouble.

Raven the Dark Angel~ I like the Brotherhood, well, I have a few problems with Quicksilver on certain days, but I personally like them a lot. It's easy to write for things you like, just like your comment about me and romance. I like the Brotherhood, I like _well done_ romance (i.e. what your story looks like it is going to be), but I prefer to steer clear of it for the most part. You'll see what Rogue does about the Institute right now. 

As for the missing characters, well Wanda will make an appearance. I would say more, but I already gave away my spoiler for later chapters to quazzee. The New Recruits, they won't be appearing. Don't be annoyed, I have a sequel in mind that focuses on them. (Hint if you want to know who I prefer with St. John: remember how I said who I like isn't appearing in _this_ story?) Plus, most of them wouldn't fit in at a school for geniuses in the real world. I love Gambit too. He'll just not be making a _big_ appearance because I don't believe in teen love lasting forever. Again, I say sequel.

I know that it seems that I submit very quickly. But I already had about half of this written before I posted the first chapter. It is a method that I like to employ, write about half a story then start submitting so that the feedback keeps my writing fresh. I have to slow down on my submitting times though, because my school work has begun to bite me in the bum before I go on Easter vacation.

There won't be much craziness when she goes to the mansion.. _this_time. Remember she's got to find out what makes a lot of characters tick. So, this means that she will go back there again.

Locu S.~ You can have anything you want. Name it, for I suck at thinking up prizes on my own. As for a title, how does Literary Genius sound to you? It fits, even if you aren't resurrecting any of your fics. 

As to Rogue and Kurt, well it's a little of column A and quite a lot of column B. Yes, Kurt doesn't know about his sister dearest, but she knows about him. See quazzee's spoiler if you want a hint. 

I still could use a good sob story about Lance. I only have a pretty gruesome one that ASGT gave me and I'd rather not use it if I have to (Sorry to ASGT and Red Witch, but that sort of thing makes me squeamish). There aren't any really good fan sites out there for him the way there are for Johnny. None of the ones I found had any believable sob stories on them. 

Hmm, what does Pietro do every second Saturday? I already said that I gave away my spoiler to quazzee in my response to Raven. Your question ties into why I had to tell her that the spoiler was given away. (Think both of you; I am trying to follow the Evo plot lines as _closely_ as possible. This is the only hint I shall give out).

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Marie Alder stood nervously in front of the imposing wrought iron gate. The thing had to be twelve feet tall.

A chill breeze whistled past her legs and tugged at her carefully done hair. She had made one trip to the girl's room after school to put extra make-up on, do something with her hair, and put on some jewelry. 

Why had she done that? It was just the X-Kids, after all. Now she could have passed for one of those snotty rich little bastards any day. What did she care if they saw her the way she normally was? But there was something different about being her grungy Goth self at school and being it here, in front of these gates. Here she would be the dark brooding sculpture of ice, rather than the scruffy vagabond of the school.

She would show them that just because she hung out with Lance and everyone didn't mean that she would steal the silver. She was just as well educated and intelligent as these people. She hadn't signed up for their stupid school program because she didn't want in, not because she wasn't smart enough.

John was typing in the security code and pointedly not noticing her. The Goth had given him the details of what had sent Jean Grey off with her tail in between her legs. The insults had seemed a little harsh in his opinion, but he couldn't make any judgment about it until he learned why Rogue hated Jean with such a vengeance.

Unfortunately no such information was forth coming. Rogue had given him the bare facts of the case, but none of the back story. When he had asked her what had set her off she told him that it was none of his business.

"What are we goin' tah be doin' here anyway?" she said suddenly, making him jump and type in the wrong number.

"Uh, working on the project.. You didn't think that we would be.. you know," he trailed off, there was no way that the sentence could end well.

Rogue just snorted, "Yah obviously don't know me very well, Sin Jin," she had taken to calling him that on the walk from school. He didn't mind, it was a lot better than Johnny, a nick name that he was trying to stamp out, "Ah am th' Untouchable Rogue. Yah didn't think that a nahce warm Southern gal like me got the name of Ice Queen for the way Ah like mah tea, do yah?"

"Oh boy, my face is red. Soooo, you like iced tea, do you? Well, isn't that something? Darn you stupid security system, open these gates before I make a bigger fool of myself," he yelled at the keypad.

"Yah mean like talkin' tah the security system," Rogue was beginning to smile.

"Well, yeah. Uh, what was the original question?"

"What th' heck are we gonna do here all afternoon?" she asked him as the gates began to swing open.

"Oh, I thought that we could do a little background surfing on our key characters. You know, find out their quirks and stuff. The more we know about a person the better we can fit some powers to them. Like I think that the Headmaster, Professor Xavier, should be a psychic. It fits him; he always knows what's on your mind before even you do."

They walked across the sloping lawn, talking about who would fill what position within the team.

"Summers is th' obvious leadah of all these do goodahs," Rogue said vehemently.

"Yeah, but he's got no personality. We could never make it fly. You've got to keep the reader's interested, otherwise you've lost sheila," John shot back.

"Yeah, Ah see that. But yah don't want th' main good guy tah be interestin'. Yeah need tah have th' minor characters hog th' spotlight. Anyway, we should keep this as real as possible," Rogue countered swiftly.

"Real! How can you possibly talk about real? We've given the main adult character telepathic powers!"

"Whoa, is there trouble in paradise?" Kurt walked around the corner so suddenly that both Rogue and John jumped in fright.

"Uh, hi Kurt. This is Marie, Marie Alder, she's working on the English project with me," John introduced them. Rogue seemed reluctant to shake hands.

"It's great to meet you, Fraulein," Kurt made a mock bow over her hand. Instead of rolling her eyes and sighing with exasperation the way she did when Pietro pulled the same stunt with her Rogue looked like she was going to be sick.

"Yeah, well, it's not so great tah meet yah," she bristled.

"Prickly, isn't she? Just part of her inconceivable charm and-- uuff," John doubled over where Rogue's elbow had made contact with his stomach.

"OK, that was just part of her inconceivable charm and very sharp elbow, huh?" Kurt grinned at Marie, inviting her to share the joke.

She almost brushed him off again, but she remembered that one of the names on the list of people that they had to interview was his. And, she told herself, it was an OK joke. I can drop my hatred for one afternoon, give him a chance. It's not like he's the one I'm pissed about. Just his stupid, fucking.. she stopped that train of thought cold. She would not let that.. _woman_ over shadow her life.

"Do yah always pop up so suddenly?" she asked while John got his breath back.

"Oh, yeah. Scott's threatening to put a bell around my neck, it's happening so often," he smiled at her.

Marie grinned back despite herself. Kurt was very good humored it seemed, "Why did yah call me Fraulein just then?"

"Oh, I spent one year in Germany. I use the German when I want people to swoon all over me. It doesn't always work, but I figure with your reputation the chances were that it wasn't likely to."

"Mah reputation?" she said in a dangerous tone of voice.

"Yeah, or rather the reputation of those you hang out with. I think you must be the only girl who has been in Pietro Maximoff's presence for more than five seconds and not tried to kiss him," Kurt said jovially, oblivious to the danger.

"Oh, that is a relief. Pietro and Ah want tah keep our engagement a secret."

John, who had just gotten his breath back, let it out in a whoosh. Kurt looked shocked for a few seconds. Rogue began to laugh at the stunned expressions on the faces of the two boys. Then Kurt began to laugh, too, once he realized that Marie had been joking with him.

"Ah should really try that joke when Pietro is around tah hear it. Ah'd just love tah see the look on his face. If it is anythin' lahk yahs then it'll be worth it."

"You really have to make sure that everyone knows that you are joking. You look so serious, that and you aren't the type to joke around like that," Kurt said as he accompanied his friends to the front entrance.

"C'mon Rogue sheila," John was feeling happier again, Rogue's initial iciness had toned down, though she was still holding herself stiffly, "We'll give you the grand tour. D'you want to start with the grounds or the Academy itself?"

"The grounds, Ah think that Ah'll get tah see more that way," Rogue told the two boys.

Kurt offered her an arm, but she pretended not to notice that it was there. John shook his head slightly at Kurt and gave him a look that has been universally translated to mean 'tell you later'. Kurt shrugged, but he started off, explaining the secrets of the wide sloping lawn and the lovely gardens.

Marie watched everything with a hint of envy. She got particularly attached to the small gazebo overlooking the sheer cliff that dropped into the Sound. John and Kurt had to drag her away from the woody enclosure that the gazebo rested in.

Kurt did tell them a lot about the history of the grounds, particularly the tress that grew along the edges. He went on for quite a while about the differences between the elm and the maple when Marie told him about John's slip up. Kurt only ended that when John began to beat his head against a 'bloody great ash tree' in the Saint's own words (it was a pine, but both Rogue and Kurt agreed that it was probably not a good idea to mention that fact).

He showed them all of the best places to climb, which trees had the best views from the tops, and which ones were challenges from the climbing point of view. Marie always climbed up Kurt's trees with him, but John preferred to stay on the ground, claiming that he liked his skull in the same piece.

Marie and Kurt were just racing up a spruce tree when John shouted up to them that they had company. Both of the laughing teens slid down again to be confronted by Scott Summers. 

Rogue became suddenly aware that her hair had mostly come undone, her clothes were severely disheveled, and to top it off her make up was smudged from the tears of laughter that she had a moment earlier. Scott Summers, the hottest guy in school according to the girl's bathroom poll, had just seen her look like a total idiot. She was going to be haunted by this every time she stepped into chemistry and drama class.

She could feel the heat rushing to her face. Wonderful girl, not only do you look like you were trying to relive your days as a three year old, you're blushing, she scolded herself. Scott Summers has just seen you fall out of a tree giggling like a maniac. This situation can't get any worse.

Scott's gaze, however, brushed past her to land on Kurt. 

Oh, come on! What does he think I am? Just this Rogue shaped patch of air? I bet he wouldn't act this way if Jean was standing in my place. Rogue's face must have reflected her thoughts, because John looked at her strangely.

"Hey, Kurt, Dr. MacTaggart wanted to see you about that report that you handed in on the evolution of mankind. She has a bone to pick with you about your extra gene theory," Scott scratched his head; science was a closed book to him.

"Oh boy, I am in trouble. Jean was the one who had helped me write that report. She sortta lent me that theory. I am so dead," Kurt was off so fast he might as well have teleported away from the other three.

"Does he always pop off lahk that?" Rogue asked Scott. Yes, thought her subconscious, yes, pay attention to me. Look at me, please look at me. Wow, you have hot eyes without those glasses.

"Yeah," Scott looked uncomfortable, "he does do that a lot. Look I'd better be--."

He was cut off by a grinning Aussie, "You'd better be helping my on the grand tour, mate. Kurt was just showing us the beauty of the forest before you made him run off," John flashed a smug smile at the gaping Marie, who was trying to figure out what the heck her partner was up to.

"But can't you do it?" Scott protested as John took him by the arm and propelled him forcefully towards the next stop on the tour.

"No, mate, I haven't the knowledge of the Academy that you permanent students do. Look, here's the garage. Now explain to Marie what it is that we do here."

John needn't have bothered to be there in the time that they spent in the garage. Marie had immediately run over to a motorcycle and begun to ask questions about things like vintage, which as far as John was concerned, was something that happened to wine. Scott began warming to the questions. He didn't let down his guard enough to say that he had enjoyed Marie's company, but he did become very respectful.

It was five o'clock when Marie's watch beeped fitfully. She started and stopped running her fingers down the Harley that had caught her attention in the beginning. She groped guiltily for her bag and began to mutter excuses.

"Hey, Marie, y'can't leave!" John cried, "We still have to compile all of our notes!"

He looked distraught at the idea of letting this part of the project slip through his fingers.

"Yah can come over an' have dinner with me," Marie clapped her hand to her mouth. What on Earth had possessed her to say that? And why did she have to say that tonight? She couldn't have Sin Jin over for dinner _tonight_!

"Sure sheila, that would be great," John babbled out before Rogue got a chance to change her mind, which it looked like she was already in the process of doing, "Tell Xavier that I'll be out with Rogue," John waved to the flabbergasted Scott and walked over to Rogue.

She turned and walked out of the garage as fast as possible, trying to think of a way to gracefully get rid of him. She couldn't retract the invitation, now that it had been made. That would be the worst case of bad manners ever; Irene would never forgive her for it. 

She couldn't tell him why she didn't want him to come, either. What would be the point of keeping him away if she had to describe why she didn't want him to come? None, and she wasn't good enough at making up lies for him not to be suspicious. He would just be more determined to find out and she couldn't let the other half of her family down tonight.

So, she would have to have him come over. Not good, he would find out what a mess her life was.

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Please review, I need it for inspiration. 

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.

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	5. Chapter 5: The Wolverine

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away. 

**To my dear reviewers:**

ASTG~ Yeah, I should have been able to guess what POTC stood for, it was quite obvious once I sat down with your e-mail and thought about it. Hey, what can I say? I'm totally clueless unless you explain things to me in small words and with visual aids.

            It's not so much what Johnny's going to see as much as it is what he is going to overhear. Basically Rogue is going to drop the proverbial ball trying to get someone out of major trouble. Who? Now that would be telling.

            Remind me never to write when I have a sugar high. If you thought your review was weird you should have seen me on Thursday. I had pulled an all-nighter to study for a major English test, then I had to take some cold medication, then when I got to school I was so sleepy that one of my friends feed me a frosted cereal bar to get me to perk up. The sugar must have had a bad reaction to the cold medication because I spent the next hour laughing at anything that was said and rocking back and forth. I think my friends thought that I was going crazy.

            Yes, LOTR rocks. I prefer the books to the movies, but either one will do when I'm feeling down. 

Lance rocks even more, but I want a different word than rocks because that's another rock pun and those get boring after a while.

Yeah, I was getting so desperate that I would have given Johnny cancer, but I did get a sob story and it all works for me. So we shall have some fun and some tears and all that good stuff and Johnny will not get cancer. Yay!

UiniversalAnimeGirl~ What a nice name. Anyways, 20 people have reviewed my fic so far so I'm not complaining. It's my other masterpiece, Extending Evolution, that wasn't being reviewed (minus one review from a friend of mine who was trying to cheer me up, but he never actually read the thing, he was just being nice). However, people have started to review and it has made me look on the sunny side of life.

I am glad that you think that the premise is original. This little piece of knowledge did make me giggle with glee. Well not giggle. I don't giggle unless I have just had Sudafed, sugar, and absolutely no sleep. Then I giggle, rock back and forth, and jitter. Look, this piece of info just made me smile like a maniac for the rest of the day. Thank you.

LadyEvils~ Thank you very much for that info. There actually is a way that I can work that little piece of info into my fic. Where did you find it? I've been at a loss as where to find Lance info (man, I like using that word).

Raven the Dark Angel~ I find having multiple stories keeps the top of my head from exploding with ideas. 

As for Pyro's Romy I haven't gotten it back yet, and won't until after Spring Break. I can't post it until then, so you won't be able to read it until then. QED.

My friends don't edit so much as make sarcastic comments. This does allow me to re-write things so that they are more realistic, but it really makes me depressed. Some of my friends are kind and give me only good feedback, though. However, they're the ones who usually catch the editing errors and boy is it embarrassing to realize that you don't know when to use their instead of there. This mistake happens more often then it should, even though I do know the difference between the two. Personal editors can be a mixed blessing.

Can't wait to read Veins of Glass.

Locu S. ~ Looks like you're still a chapter behind the times. Oh well, you'll catch up.

Jean seemed OOC because that part of the story was basically from Rogue's perspective. If it had been from Jean's Rogue would be the one who had seemed snotty and nasty. In real life a friendly conversation between Rogue and Jean has about the same chance at survival as does a snowflake in a volcano.

Rogue really did strike a nerve there. I will get back to that in a couple of chapters. Jean angst will be coming in. This is a warning for those of you who don't like angst in any shape or form. I don't need help writing the angsty moments; I just need help thinking them up.

Also any help on Scott angst would be appreciated. I will have to confront it when Marie and John start writing 'The Cauldron'. The problem is that I don't like Scott at all and so I try not to write him in. Yet I know that I will have to sometime, so any advice as to how to write the scene when they find out about Alex (shudders so violently that the cat runs away thinking that an Earthquake has struck) would be welcome. I don't like the Summers family very much (reads: at all).

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John wandered along, next to the scowling Rogue. This would be the perfect opportunity to find out more about the broody Goth girl. There seemed to be an unwritten list of rules somewhere that said what you could and couldn't say to Rogue. Since he didn't have access to it, the way all of her other friends did, he was going to have to observe her and find out.

Her group of friends all seemed to have a set of words that set them off. He knew from the conversation that he had eavesdropped on that you did not say the word crazy in Pietro's presence. You never made fun of Lance's Jeep, or Freddy's weight. He didn't have a handle on what set Todd off, but of the group he seemed to be the most easy-going. Rogue was the enigma, things set her off alright, but he didn't know which things.

They walked into the run down part of town in a heavy silence. Rogue was kicking at some pebbles that were unfortunate enough to end up near her booted feet. John was looking at his notebook cover, which he had brought with him. Rogue turned down a side street and entered a shabby bar. John stood outside for a while in surprise, but then went in after her.

There was a smoky haze in the bar, but to John's relief it smelled more of cigars than cigarettes. He didn't think that he would have been able to stomach the stench of cigarettes at the moment. He was already shocked at his partner's behavior.

Rogue slid into a booth that had a man slumped over it. The guy was obviously drunk, and John's nose wrinkled as he slid in across from Rogue and the man. Rogue shook the man, but very gently, John noticed.

"Here, you can't sit there," a tough looking girl walked up out of the gloom. She wore a canvas apron that was stained with God knew what and a grim scowl, "Oh, it's you Marie," her expression softened, slightly, "Who's the stud?" 

The rag that she had been using to polish a beer mug flicked in John's direction. He felt suddenly hot, but Rogue laughed. She seemed freer here. He had certainly never seen her act so lose around anyone, not even her gang of friends.

"This is Sin Jin, Ah asked him ovah for dinnah bah accident."

"How do y'do that?" the girl looked incredulous.

"We're partnahs on a school thing. We needed tah work out th' details of th' project and I made th' invite without thinkin'," Rogue shrugged, with the closest approximation of ruefulness that she could make.

"That's for sure," the girl gave John another steely glare, "you've gotta get rid of the stupid sense of politeness that Irene ingrained into you."

"Whatevah. You got your ways, Ah got mahne. Speakin' of politeness, Sin Jin, this is Xy, we jus' call her Exie."

"How d'you manage to get a name like that?" the question burst out of John's mouth before he could stop himself.

"That what happens if your father is so drunk he can't write your name straight on a register," Exie shrugged and turned to Rogue, "Speaking of the old reprobate, you'd better wake him up. He'd be right pissed if he missed his daughter's visit because he was too busy consoling himself today."

"Ah thought he'd gone off of th' stuff," Rogue looked at the man sitting on the bench next to her with worry, forgetting her partner, who was trying to sort all of the information out at once.

"He has. Just, well, things happen," Exie didn't meet Rogue's piercing emerald gaze.

"What thin's?" the question was forced out with deadly menace.

"Nick died," the reply was short.

"Uncle Nick! Why wasn't Ah told? When did this happen?" Rogue looked furious.

"We found out on Labor Day. Dad didn't want your concentration to slip from school. Well, that and he became so sauced after he found out.. It was a two day binge. 

"Today was the funeral, and that just started the ball rolling again. It's only him and Creed left now. It was so sad, us three, we were the only mourners. We didn't tell Irene because she'd insist that you go, and you'd insist that you go, and we really didn't need you and Creed trying to clobber each other with the coffin. 

"Besides, you know Fury; he never liked to inconvenience anyone, and taking you out of school today.. Well for starters that would have ruined my chance to mock you and your date," the girl grinned maliciously at John.

"Wait a tic," John was doing speed calculation, "You two are sisters?!"

"Yeah, we got the same Dad. The lazy wretch that Marie is trying to coax awake," Exie's tone was soft even though her words were harsh.

"Who says that I'm not awake already?" came the growl from the supposedly sleeping man, "So, you goin' out with my daughter, bub?"

"No, Logan, it's not lahk that, Ah swear. An' Ah'd lahk it if y'all didn't give Sin Jin ideahs, he's got enough comin' out of his head without mah family tryin' tah turn them in an amorous direction," Rogue glared at the grinning people who bracketed her.

John blushed, and began writing things down feverishly. He flipped to the page that he had done on himself and put down that he had a habit of writing things down when he was under emotional distress. Displacement activity? He wrote, and then added a second question mark.

"So, how's your mother?" Logan asked.

Exie began to polish the beer mug feverishly. Rogue clenched her jaw, her face suffused with red. This was visible, even under her customary ten layers of make-up. 

"How th' Hell should Ah know?' her voice was quiet and threatening.

"How 'bout Irene?" Logan looked unperturbed.

"She's fahne, Ah guess. Wants me tah move away from the crowd Ah hang with, as per th' usual. She doesn't get it," Rogue broke off biting her lip.

"She's right," Logan growled, "I don't mind that wannabe rocker boy, Avery, or whatever, but I don't think that you ought to be hanging around with that little Toady."

"Todd's a good person," Rogue defended hotly.

"He's a pickpocket," Logan said, his manner was outwardly calm, but John could see the angry flush on his cheeks. 

"He's a loyal friend. Better than some Ah could mention," Rogue managed to give the illusion of drawing herself up while still keeping in her seat.

"Yeah, that sneaky white haired freak being one of them. He's been doing everything he can to drive those parents of his to the insane asylum. That boy is nothing but trouble," Logan commented sourly.

"Yah don't know him, Ah do," Rogue said quietly, drawing rings on the table in stale beer.

"What I do know is that he's been shop lifting," Exie interjected forcefully, Rogue looked up, startled.

"Pietro? Yah gotta be kiddin' me. Todd, yeah, Ah can see him makin' th' step, but Mr. God of th' Athletic Scholarship Program himself?" both John and Rogue were incredulous.

"Yeah, well, he tried to get in here on a fake ID about a day ago. Look, you know what they say, like father," Exie cautioned.

"Lahke son. Yeah, Ah know. Funny, the last tahm Ah heard that little phrase was when Pietro blew up at everyone," Rogue mused.

John quickly flipped to the page underneath the label of Pietro Maximoff.

"What Ah'd lahk tah know," Rogue mused, "Is why everyone always uses that phrase when 'Tro's around," both girls turned to look at Logan sharply.

He shrugged, "I was off in Arizona, or somewhere in the mid west, or maybe in Ontario. I don't know. But everyone steps carefully where the Maximoff boy and his real parents are concerned. Everyone knows that poor couple isn't his real parents, and of course you get all of the stories associated with _why_ they aren't his parents. You girls are right; it's always the father they speak darkly about. Creed could tell you more than I can. He actually knew the kid's father." Logan inspected his glass to see if there was any beer left.

"We are not askin' Creed for information. It doesn't matter that much tah me if Ah don't know. An' Ah won't involve some low down, dirty, evil bastard in what mah friends won't tell me."

"You sound like I did when I was younger," Logan grinned, "It's funny that you two hate each other so much. I can't really understand it. You've never seen the things about him that made me hate him, and the first time he met you, nothing happened. Maybe there is such a thing as hate at first sight."

"Maybe," Exie looked at Logan, as if he was opening up an old argument, "But I don't think that--,"

"Oh, don't start that old argument again!" Rogue exclaimed.

"What argument?" John spoke up now that they were on solid ground conversation wise.

"They like tah argue over philosophical points of view. Last year it was truth versus beauty. This year it's been love at first sahght," Rogue shifted her weight on the bench and glared at both Exie and her father with exasperation.

The door opened letting drafts of air that sent the cigar smoke filling the room moving. Exie looked up, her face creased in a frown.

"Hey, we're not open for another half hour," her face softened as she recognized who was in the doorway, "Oh, it's you. Sorry, I should have remembered that you were coming. You already know me and Logan. This is Marie; she'll be the other waitress. She only comes every Monday. You'll be working the supply shift under Logan. What you have to do is.. Hey I'm trying to tell you about your job here!" Exie's frown snapped back into place.

The new comer was staring at Rogue who was tense and growling. John could immediately see the resemblance between Logan and his Goth daughter.

"What the Hell are yah doing here?" Rogue's voice was low and menacing.

"Ro- Ro- Marie! I didn't know that you were here," John looked at Lance Alvers, who stood paralyzed by Rogue's baleful glare.

"Same here," she said, "but Ah do know someone who does. Avery indeed. I'll get yah for this Logan," Rogue threatened without taking her eyes off of Lance's pale face.

"Didn't want you to be running off if you knew that one of your crowd was going to be here. And he will be working here, no matter what you want to say to the contrary," Logan looked up from his beer glass, which he had been gazing wistfully at, once again.

"Whatevah," was Marie's only response.

Exie led Lance on a grand tour explaining what he would be doing. This seemed to consist of make sure that the beer nuts never ran low. He also had to make sure that the right alcoholic beverage was given to Logan in case of a fancy order, but those weren't common, and when they were ordered it was usually Fuzzy Navels that were asked for. Lance memorized where the bottles of orange juice and peach schnapps were kept and then was declared fit to do his job.

Exie handed over a clean apron to Rogue and got a marginally more presentable one for herself. John was taken out of the both and was put into a corner barstool where he could converse with Marie and not disturb the other customers. Logan slid out of his seat grumbling, and went behind the bar to prepare for the first wave of customers.

John watched everything curiously as Exie and Marie swiped the tables clean.

"Uh, ain't there some sort of law against children working in a bar?" he asked Logan tentatively.

Logan grinned, "Yeah, but in this section of Bayville the cops don't come around unless they're off duty. Nobody's gonna try and close down the only cop bar in town. The other bar won't have it because the cops will just invade their 'establishments' and scare away all the regulars, and the town council won't have it 'cause I've got the dirt on every single member. So Exie stays and helps me out and Marie does waitressing on Monday nights."

"What d'you mean, 'cop bar'?" John asked, his note book open to a new section entitled 'Logan'.

""Simple, this is where the cops go if they are off duty. This bar is like a second precinct for them. There's a couple of 'Nam vets that come here, too. And one little old lady whose been coming here since it was the Rose Tea Shop. It's pretty somber in here for the most part. Cops are serious drinkers, vets are serious drinkers, and little old ladies have mean ways with umbrellas if things get too loud for them."

"By serious drinkers you mean?" John gestured with his left hand as his right scribbled madly.

"They come looking for enough beer to drown out everything that they have ever seen. It's, how does that quote go? Oh yeah, 'They drink with the clear intention of never seeing sobriety again.' Why are you writing all of this down?" Logan looked at John suspiciously.

"For that English project that I'm working on with Marie, mate. I'm looking for atmosphere and ambiance. That and this place provides good character insights."

"Yeah," Logan replied with the tone employed by every person who has no clue what you are talking about but will agree to anything if you will only shut up.

John knew this tone well. He shook his head and bent down so that he could attempt making his hand writing neater. Why did people always ask for information if they didn't want it? Oh well, just one of life's little mysteries, like why no one else liked to watch the pretty pictures that fire created.

"Hey," Rogue's shadow fell across his paper, "What have yah got for ideas so far?"

"Well, I think that we ought to include your father. He'd make up for the total lack of character in Scott. More than make up for it, the guy has charisma."

"No. No way! We are not draggin' anyone else intah this. Ah don't want--," Rogue cut herself off.

"You don't want people to know about him," John said, one pale orange eyebrow raised.

"Yah're damn right. It's bad enough that mah best friends are tryin' tah test the limits of th' law with out haulin' all of mah problems for everyone to peer at in a school project!" her emerald eyes flashed in anger.

"We don't have to write the same relationships that everyone has. Also, you're not even in this thing yet. I'm writing him in, it's a done deal," John closed his notebook with what would have been a snap if he had been using any other implement, because it was a spiral bound notebook it closed with a soft thwap. Not as final or impressive as a snap but it still got the point across.

"Fahne, but Ah get tah write th' entire plot for th' first chapter," Rogue hissed back.

"OK, and we'll do the character's powers together. See how easy things are when you compromise sheila?" John seemed to be back to his usual smiling self.

"Comprmise! Ah'll compromise with you when--,"

The door swung open, cutting off what Rogue was going to say. 

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Slight cliffhanger folks but this chapter was long and I needed to revise about half of it so I cut it off at an appropriate moment. How about a challenge to appease y'all: Who is about to walk through the door there?

Winner gets to name their prize.

Please review, I need it for inspiration. 

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.

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	6. Chapter 6: The Cops and the Customers

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away. 

**To my dear reviewers: Sorry, but none of you got the challenge right. Awesome guesses though. (Actually some of them would be better than who I wrote in as the mysterious figure in the doorway.)**

ASTG~ Johnny's sob story, well you can't have it until the rest of the lovely people out there do. They won't get it until Pietro's sob story (It kinda ties in, see). Yup, it's a vicious cycle. Plus, I don't want to write it until I can get all of my psychological facts straight. Here's a hint for my wonderful reviewer: I need to get more facts on pyromania (well, I needed that anyway) and how it is affected by child abuse. I will probably be spending a lot of my time on depressing websites, so my style of writing might grow slightly darker. Or it will become a lot drier, because a lot of this info comes from places that sound like text books.

Thank you for reminding me not to write on sugar. I can always use this advice.

What should be completely Mystique? Sorry if it was one of those really obvious questions like before (remembers the POTC question and shakes head at own stupidity).

Lance rules doesn't have quite the same snap as Lance rocks, we'll work on it.

Sorry, but the person who Rogue is getting out of trouble is classified info, and I don't like to ruin the plot line by giving out spoilers. (If you guess it than that's a different story, but for this part to be spoiled you would also have to guess why that person got in trouble in the first place).

Lance working at the bar ties into his sob story. Basically this is a plot by Exie to get Logan to stop taking so much responsibility on himself, so she pushed hiring a new person to the limit. They got Lance and now Rogue is stuck with one of her friends knowing that she has a father and half sister. 

(Spoiler alert! Spoiler alert!) He also will be putting two and three together with the fact that John was there with Rogue's permission. Meaning that she was willing to let some guy that she has known for about a week learn that she has a family and she wasn't ready to let him, her friend of two years, into this knowledge. If this doesn't have fireworks down the road, I don't know what will.

Wow, I wrote the best powerless AU story you've ever read? There have been stars in my eyes ever since I read that. Warm fuzzy. Warm fuzzy.

Locu S. ~ Sorry, that was just an observation on my part. I didn't mean to insult you. Many apologies because I did insult you, albeit accidentally. Please try to believe that I would never insult such a loyal and staunch reviewer as you intentionally.

Exie is my name for X23 when she needs a slightly normal one (C'mon, who would believe that someone would name their baby girl X23?). I thought that I had been pretty clever to think that up all by my little lonesome. Y'see, the twenty third letter in the alphabet is Y and so if you replace 23 with Y in X23's name you get Xy, or Exie. OK, it must be obvious to you that I am a cipher freak. It is true that I speak in jumbles of letters and numbers and expect everyone to know what I mean. Also I love to complicate things beyond all reason.

Sorry it isn't Pietro or any of the Institute kids. I figure that I can only make Rogue have so many cows for one day before she needs a little rest, and she would have a serious cow if the person who walked through the door just then was someone that she knew from school.

I do magic? Cool. Thank you for your loyal and dedicated reviewing job.

Josiah Girl~ Sorry it wasn't Remy. He won't be appearing until Spring Break, Stupid School Project time. Thank you for the encouragement, and I hope that you read this chapter. I feel many warm fuzzies to you for taking the time out of your day to read and review my work. Especially because you do not write Evo fiction personally, and have no reason to be interested in Stupid School Project.

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A large figure loomed in the doorway cutting off most of the fitful light from the street lights outside. It strode to a barstool near by John and dumped some cash on the counter.

"Hey Runt, how much can I get for that?" came the rough voice.

"A lot less than if you hadn't called me Runt, Creed," Logan shot back unperturbed.

John carefully scrutinized the man called Creed. Another possible character? He didn't know much about the man except that Rogue hated him and that Logan used to. Hmm.. A possible rival for Logan? They could use an antagonistic element to the story.

The man wore a biker's leather jacket and matching leather pants. So he probably could ride a motorcycle. John made a note on the back of his hand with a ballpoint pen purloined from the bar to check that out when he left.

"Wonderful," Rogue muttered, "first mah writin' partnah goes a-wol on me an' now _he's_ showed up."

"Got a problem, Skunk Head?" Creed growled showing off large and pointy teeth.

"Plenty. Startin' with th' fact that yah exist," Rogue tied her apron on with savage movements and went behind the bar to put the final polish on some glasses before the rest of the regulars began to stream in.

"Creed's here and picking fights with Marie, the beer nuts are stacked, and Logan is sober. Looks like _The Wolverine_ is open for business," Exie said to John as the door swung open once again and the first wave of customers came in.

John looked them over surreptitiously. He hadn't known that Bayville had more than five cops. There were twenty of them here and it looked like there were going to be more coming. Most of them were old and hard faced, they ordered their beers quietly and then went to sit at corner tables. A few were younger and lightly more energetic, but this just meant that they ordered their beers and went to corner tables to talk quietly amongst themselves.

A couple of the police men stayed at the bar, talking in low undertones to Logan, and occasionally Creed. One of the men raked his blonde hair with his hand and shifted uncomfortably.

"What can I do for you, Captain?" Logan rumbled.

Creed's eyes swung to rest on the man, but his body stayed hunched over his beer.

The Captain shook his head, as if trying to dispel his thoughts. He cleared his throat and put on an absurdly official face, "Logan, the commander's been making noises again. I have to warn you in an official capacity that should you," he paused for a minute and looked down a slip of paper with something scrawled on it, "continue to use minors in the works place where alcoholic beverages are sold, yadiyadah, you know the drill," his official mask slipped off, "Basically, Trask just wants to shut you down as usual. Hey, I'm doing a survey people, is there anyone her who's underage to drink here?"

"Mentally or physically?" someone yelled from the back of the room.

"Hmm, well Commander Trask forgot to put that down. I guess I'll have to make the judgment myself. How about mentally today? Is there anyone out there who has a mentality less than twenty one years of age? No one? Good, sorry, Trask must be talking about another bar. Exie, could you get me a whiskey sour? Law enforcement is hard work."

John grabbed one of Marie's trailing sleeves as she passed, "Is he entirely sane?"

"Who? Captain Rogers? Yeah, just he's under the command of someone who isn't. Look Steve and Dad are old friends and we wouldn't have stayed open in the first year if it wasn't for his intervention. Hey, old Moonstar is waving me over, gotta go," Rogue walked in the direction of a leathery old man and a fourteen year old girl.

John watched as she took the order. So, Rogue was right handed, interesting. John wrote right handed but his dominant hand was the left. He could right with his left, but it was slower and holding pencils in it was painful.

A tall old woman with silver hair and muscles on bull whip like arms walked into the bar. Anyone who was wearing a hat took it off and there was a general scraping of chairs to see the visitor.

"Ms. Danvers," Logan smiled, "The usual, I presume."

"Of course, Howlett. On the rocks this time, I don't want to drink myself under the table," she waited patiently for the glass to be filled, then she took the glass and raised it to the full room, "To old friends, may they always be remembered," she downed half of the glass in one gulp, "To new enemies, may they always live in fear," the ice clinked in the glass as she set it down again, "To Nick Fury, may he rest in peace," a silence accompanied these words.

"Although, how he's to do that when there's all of these noisy kids running around I'll never know," Creed said after five minutes of quiet in the smoky bar.

Ms. Danvers raised her eyebrow at him, "Well old man, I see you have yet to learn manners when it comes to making toasts. If a lady makes a toast it is polite to let her finish it."

"I'll remember that the next time I see a lady, but those are getting rather scarce in this day and age, Grandma," He smiled challengingly at her from his seat at the bar.

"Grandma is it? Well this grandma can shoot you under the table. Howlett, is the pool table back there open for business?"

"You're on Marvel Woman," Creed got up from the bar and walked over to the table.

"That's Ms. Marvel to you, Kitty Cat," Ms. Danvers followed the giant man over to the table.

Exie put an order to Logan and waited for it next to John. He bent over to ask, "Is she for real?"

"Yeah, kinda makes you wonder what the Rose Tea Shop was like if that is an example of their clientele."

"That's your little old lady with a mean umbrella?" John stared at her aghast.

"Yup," Exie responded happily, "Like I said, it makes you wonder. She's the only person I know who calls Dad by his last name. And if anyone's ever called old Sabertooth Kitty Cat and lived it has to be her."

"Sabertooth?"

"Creed. It's his nickname from his army days. Dad was Wolverine, he was Sabertooth, Nick was, well, Fury, Nick Fury, y'know, like James Bond, and Rogers was Captain America. Dad said that in the old days Rogers was an amazing fighter, but a little too rule bound to be of much use. 'Course having the command of such a 'diverse' company loosened him up real fast."

Exie grabbed the two beers sent her way and walked off to the tables that wanted their drinks.

John stared at the notebook in front of him. He had an idea forming in his mind. There were so many new characters that he wanted to add. He put their names down on his character index page and then flipped to a new section. 

They needed more info on Jean, and Scott, but he could already see the story unfolding in his mind. His pencil jittered across the page as the story started at a football game and began to play out to God knew where.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Please review, I need it for inspiration. 

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.

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	7. Chapter 7: With Friends Like These

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away. 

**To my dear reviewers: **

ASTG~ My mom actually did walk in on me while I was researching. She thinks that it is good that I am trying to expand my knowledge of the psychological issues of today. It shows that I have grown in maturity etc. She has been reading too many 'how to deal with your teen' books.

Bobby puns are evil. Die. Die. Ahem, sorry about that. I'll just go and back away from the strange looks my reviewers are giving me now.

Locu S. ~ You think that I'm clever? Funny, most people think that I'm insane when I come up with one of my little complications. I don't think that I've reached Riddler status quite yet. First of all I don't wear enough green. 

Lance is going to both make assumptions and be totally P.O.ed. Life is not going to be looking up for either Rogue or John (John's little bout will come next chapter). 

There really isn't going to be much leaving of the Brotherhood, but the little band is beginning to have a few cracks in the dam.

Muhaha, I put a spell on you. He, he. Sorry, I forgot ASTG's advice and I do have sugar in my system.

Goldylokz~ Glad that you think that this is good. I like that phrase: life influencing fiction influencing life. It's complicated. I like complicated.

I know, I like romy too. But I don't like writing romance very much, so relationships will not be in this very much and quite frankly the main relationships will be Jott (with Duncan in the background) and Lance/Kitty/Piotr love triangle. There will be slight romy, but it won't be all that prominent.

Purity Black~ Is this soon enough for you?

You are absolutely correct about Rogue's relationship with her parents. In fact I couldn't think of a better way to describe how her mother feels about her. Thanks very much. I'm glad that you read this, even though AU's aren't your normal cup of tea. Hope that you enjoy this next chapter.

Star-of-Chaos~ Yes, spoilers do suck. Glad that you enjoy Rogue/Kurt/Mystique angst. I like angst in any shape or form, but I do think that Darkholme family angst is some of the best of the best.

KM~ No, Creed is **_not _**Logan's brother. I can't make that clear enough. They just served together in the same army company. Moonstar was Dani's grandfather, but he brought his granddaughter with him to the bar. Glad that you liked Captain Rogers.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

"Hmm, this is good," Rogue turned over another page.

John bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. This was amazing. No one had ever read his stories all the way through and made little comments in the margins _and_ praised it. Rogue actually seemed to like it. 

Of course, his cynical side told him, this is a girl who likes science fiction so anything she thinks is good probably only should be read by the Invaders of Dragon Dungeons crowd.

Shut up. She likes it, she likes it, I can't believe she like it. This is almost better than when I started that brush fire two years ago.

"Hey, Ah've only gotten half way through, but Ah really think that we should get togethah and sort out the fine details. Lahk their powahs, which Ah notice that only Kurt an' th' Prof have. Look, the Academy's a little ovah whelmin', an' so's th' bar, why not th' park?" Rogue stuffed the pages into her backpack.

"Wait, you mean you actually think that it's good enough to go through as a draft? This is the first chapter here, I might have mangled it and then the story would be ruined. If the story's ruined then the project is ruined, then the grade is ruined, and it would be my entire fault," John began to babble.

"Wow, and Ah thought that Pietro had insecurity issues. Yah need tah loosen up. See yah in th' park," Rogue shouldered her back pack.

She walked across the school yard to her homeroom. Normally she never went in there, but today she thought that she could use the quiet of the chemistry class room to continue reading.

John was amazing with the pen. His dialogue was a bit stiff in some areas, but she had been sold when 'Random Football Player' said "You and your sunglasses at night," when they were talking to Scott. She just loved this little quip on Military Man's trademark.

"Rogue," she looked up to see Lance standing in her way, "we need to talk."

"Now? Ah'm kinda busy at th' moment," She brushed her hair behind her left ear.

"Yes, now," Lance's voice was steel edged.

"Hey, what's with yah? Yah look lahk yah about tah kill someone."

"Yeah, well I think I am. Do you want it to be you? You're heading towards that area really fast," Lance clenched his fists.

"Look, what's this about? Ah have something important tah do," Rogue tried to brush him aside.

"How come you never told us about Logan or Exie?"

"Lahk it's any of your business who mah family is. Ah don't know bullshit about yah family, but yah don't see me givin' yah th' third degree over it," she saw Todd wandering over.

"It's not my business but it's also not that Aussie freak's business! So why did he find out about it? I thought we were friends Rogue," he looked at her with disgust.

Rogue was seeing red. That look was just one straw too many. It was the exact replica of her mother's when she had shown up at the front door two years ago.

"We are friends," the deadly chill in her voice should have warned Lance.

"Friends don't let some guy they're fucking into their personal life before they let the people who've known them for two years. You know, the kind of people who've stuck with them through thick and thin. Where the Hell was Johnny boy when Jean Grey was jumping up and down on the shredded remnants of your dignity? Who was there for you to nurse you through that first heart break? Was it any of the Xavier kids who made sure that you got out of that weird mess with Darkholme and never asked any questions about it afterward?" Lance hissed at Rogue, his voice icy.

"What do yah mean, 'some guy they're fucking'? In answer tah yah dumb questions: John was in Australia when that happened. The ones who nursed me through mah senseless obsession with Summers were yah an' Todd an' Fred an' Pietro. As for that Darkholme mess yah haven't a clue. Yah just fishin' and yah know it. Why on Earth are yah pissed off at me? Logan an' Exie are family, not mattahs of national security!" Rogue kept her voice just as low as Lance's.

"Whoa, whoa. Settle down, yo," Todd came in between them.

He could see the anger in the air. Trouble was always about one step away from their gang at the best of times, but he had yet to see two of the members square off against each other. True, there had been some really close scrapes when Pietro had first started hanging out with them but they had managed to keep it all together.

"Shut up Toad, this isn't your fight," Lance said and tried to dodge around Todd's outstretched arm.

"Keep outta this, Tolensky," Rogue pushed him out of the way.

Todd knew that he was out maneuvered and ran for it. They wouldn't listen to him, huh? Not surprising, really, but there couldn't be a World War Three starting. Time to get a little back up.

"It's not that it's a matter of national security, Marie. It's that you didn't trust us enough!" Lance yelled.

"Well, why does this mattah tah yah all of a sudden? Yah've had two years tah feel hurt that Ah wouldn't tell you who mah family was! Hell, yah don't give Pietro, Todd, or Fred any of this garbage an' they certainly don't trust yah enough tha tell yah th' nitty gritty of what's goin' on in their family lives! Why should Ah?" Rogue's voice was still low but her eyes were hard.

 "I'm not saying that you should. I'm saying that you shouldn't have let the first person to know be that little fire obsessed creep. How long was it going to be until we found out that you even had a father, not to mention a sister? We've known each other for two years. You've know John for two minutes," Lance was almost snarling now.

"It was an accident! Ah didn't mean tah let him come over tah th' bar. It just happened, spur of th' moment kinda thing. Yah actually thought that we were fucking or somethin'." 

"You lied to me Rogue." 

If looks could kill Lance would have created an Earthquake that buried half of Bayville with the one he shot at Marie.

"What are yah talking about?" Rogue spat.

She slowed up immediately. Her emotions were crystal clear at the moment. She was pissed at Lance. But she didn't know why he was pissed at her. Or, rather, she didn't understand why he was pissed at her.

How had she lied to him? His face clearly said that he thought that she was some sort of insect that he wanted to squash. But why? What had she said that made him so angry?

"You said that the only person that would ever find out all of your little secrets would be the one who earned your trust. We've waited two years, we've always been there. So, how have we not earned your trust? What on Earth could we possibly do to earn it after all this time?" the rage in Lance's eyes was banked.

"Ah don't see why yah want tah hold me tah task for something that Ah told y'all one day tah get yah off mah back after that Darkholme thing. Th' truth is the only person who's ever gonna find out all mah secrets will have tah follow me around nahght an' day. I don't think that yah get it yet. Ah'm not one of yah, Ah'll nevah be one of yah. That's why we're all friends, isn't it?" Rogue sighed.

"I hate to break into this," the calm voice of Ms. Monroe pulled the two back to reality.

Todd was standing beside her with Fred looking pleased with himself for some odd reason. Rogue saw the worry lines that had formed at the edges of Ms. Monroe's eyes and the way she had compressed her full lips into a thin line.

"Have either of you seen Pietro Maximoff today? He is the one who usually sits with you at drama," she looked from one to the other.

"No, Ah haven't, have you Lance?" Rogue turned towards him.

"No."

"Well, maybe Evan's seen him," she turned and walked away.

"What was that about?" Lance asked.

"I dunno, she just came up to me in the hall when I was getting Fred and asked me if I had seen the speedster. Then she came out here and asked you two."

"Look, Ah have tah get tah class," Rogue obviously really didn't care about Todd's explanation, "Maybe I'll see y'all around."

"What did she mean, 'maybe'?" Fred looked accusingly at Lance.

"It means what it means. Let's go."

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

I don't really like this chapter, so please people, tell me how I could improve on it. I don't know what, but something isn't clicking about this chapter.

Please review, I need it for inspiration. 

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.

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	8. Chapter 8: Powers and Problems

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear reviewers: **

ASTG- What do you mean by include the chapters? There will be mentions of some quotes and scenes from the episodes if I liked that quote/scene, if that's what you mean by including the chapters.

Happyness, you noticed my subtle hint! Yay!

I don't know about Bobby, I used to watch the Amazing Spiderman and Friends, which starred him as one of the friends and that sorta scarred me for life on him. Then I saw him in the X-men movie and I didn't like him one little bit. He was too much like Scott for my peace of mind. Plus he stole Rogue, who should be Gambit's girl by rights. So, I've never given the Evo version the chance he deserves (for example, in my latest chapter of Extending Evolution he is going to have to give Jamie 350 pixie stixx because he lost a bet, then he will experience the full force that is Jamie on a sugar high. Not fun for him, but I haven't posted [read: finished] that chapter so you won't get to see it).

Locu S.- I don't know, I just didn't like the last chapter. This is only my opinion, feel free to have your own and enjoy it (by it I mean the chapter, not your opinion, but you can enjoy that too).

I think both Rogue and Lance will need a little cooling off time before they can get around to apologies. Maybe a little help from their sorely abused friends would help a bit on that score. Hint, hint.

Quickie, where is he? Hmm, well he's running back just in time for the next chapter if that's any consolation for you. (He wanted to be here in time for this one, but this is AU and he doesn't have his powers any more. So he can run fast, just not fast enough it seems).

Rogue won't change her behavior towards Johnny. If anything the argument will make her friendlier with him, just to spite Lance. Plus, if you hadn't noticed her family actually seems to like him even though they aren't so fond of the Brotherhood.

Nice analogy, but this chapter won't be so hot. It's just filler.

I really have problems with decaf. You're talking to Latte Goddess here. I also go for cappuccino, espresso, and café mocha on holidays. I have this over powering urge for coffee. I literally could not live without my hourly cup (JK).

Yup, perfectly happy with my insanity thank you. It's like that saying I've heard somewhere, "It's the quiet ones you gotta watch out for". X23, for example. Or Rayne. Or Jamie..

* * *

John looked around as he sat down underneath the elm-maple. Rogue wasn't here and that wasn't good. He had been late on purpose so that Rogue could get here before him; he had noticed that she seemed to be late for appointments.

Well, that and he had seen Lance waiting just outside the school and he really didn't want another confrontation with the tough boy. The time during algebra had been bad enough, and he dreaded drama the next day. His arm was still smarting from when Lance had bushed past him so fast on the way out of algebra that John had slammed into a row of lockers, and that had been first block.

"Hey, what are yah day dreamin' about?" a Rogue shaped shadow fell across his face.

"Uh, nothing. Just wondering if you would show, that's all," he kept his eyes averted.

Marie noticed this, but she shrugged. John had weird little ticks and things, this was probably just a new one surfacing. She noticed a little purpling under the sleeve of his black t-shirt.

"How'd yah get that?" she asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Got into a fight with my locker. Those things don't open unless you run full tilt into them," he lied automatically.

Why had he just done that? Rogue might have been able to explain Lance's obvious anger towards him. Oh well, habits are hard to break, and it wasn't like he could go back and admit that one of her best friends had sideswiped him. Plus, why on earth would she believe him? It was just his word against Lance's.

"Hmm, yeah. Hey, we still got tah get our first chapter ready, so let's start. First off what powahs should we give everyone? Ah had a few idea's last nahght, wrote 'em down for yah. Pay no attention tah what Ah put down for Kurt, I think that teleportation is good," Rogue slipped a very folded up piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to John, before sinking down onto the grass herself.

John looked at the heading for Kurt immediately. He bit back a giggle.

"Fuzzy blue demon. Whip-like tail, ends with a pointy thing. Yellow eyes. Pointy ears. Fangs?" John raised an eyebrow as Marie looked away hastily.

"Yeah, well, Ah kinda got carried away," she mumbled to the grass.

"I'll say, three fingers and toes? You really don't like him that much, do you?" John said calmly.

C'mon, he thought, what do you have against Kurt? At least give me a hint. You really seemed to hit it off, but whenever you see him in school it's all 'turn on the ice queen'. What is it with you, Marie?

"He's just a little too, Ah dunno, perfect, Ah guess. He's got it all, and well, he seems nahce enough, but that just makes it all the worse yah know? People lahke him should have this dark broodin' secret or somethin', and he doesn't," Rogue looked at St. John with the steady gaze of an unparalleled liar.

If that's what's really eating you about him I'll eat my laptop, John thought bitterly. Well, store this for a rainy day, but someday I'm gonna find out about all your little secrets Marie. Hey, that's a good line, gotta remember that.

"I dunno, I kinda like the fury blue demon you've cooked up. It'd be an interesting spin on things. I mean, I sorta made him nervous about going to this strange school 'cause he didn't know what the heck it was for and what he could do. With this we could rewrite the character so that he know about the fact that he's got this ability, but he's nervous 'cause of the demon appearance. It's actually a lot more realistic, I mean, how on Earth could they know about what he could do if he didn't?" John took his note book out of his backpack.

"Er, Ah don't see how we could write that in," Rogue looked at the story in front of her, "It would change the whole plot lahne, for starters. Ah think what yah've got is just great. The idea of Xavier practically abducting him is fun.

"And it sorta lends credence tah th' whole idea that adults really don't trust children tah make up their mahnds on their own. I wanna keep that goin', it's one of the reasons we're so, Ah dunno, scary tah adults. We can actually make up our mahnds on our own without their help. It's a big issue for most teens, lahk privacy," Rogue looked at her hands.

That's a big problem for you, huh? That no one tells you what's going on. Funny, I can't really see Logan keeping that sort of thing from you. John flipped to his rather long section on Rogue. He wrote it down, but used his own version of short hand which no one could read. He noticed that quite a lot of his entries under Rogue were in his private code.

"Look, I think that I can handle it. I got an idea or two in the works already and I'll give you the next draft tomorrow. It'll give me more of a chance to focus on Todd for one thing. Speaking of Todd, what should his powers be?" John busily turned to Todd's page.

"Kinda preordained on that one. Yah evah heard his nickname?" Rogue smiled as she thought of Todd transforming into a toad. The image was very funny.

"We're going to make him a toad?" John began to laugh uncontrollably, "A toad meta-morph, or just a person with toad like characteristics?"

"Characteristics, Ah think. C'mon, can't yah just see him with a green tongue catchin' flies? An' hoppin' about and all?" she fell over laughing.

"Stop it, it's too much," John looked off into the distance trying to think of anything that would stop him laughing.

"Hey, what about everyone else? Ms. Darkholme doesn't have a power yet, and neither do Jean, Scott, Logan, Creed, or Ms. Monroe," he said as soon as he was able to breathe without breaking into giggles.

Rogue stopped laughing immediately, "Creed! Yah added Creed tah th' character list?! Ah was gonna skin yah for makin' Logan show up, but now, Ah think that Ah'll, Ah'll.. Ooh, Ah'll do somethin' painful."

"I am not going to make him into a main character; I just thought that we could use another antagonist. You have to admit that Darkholme doesn't seem to have much imagination, and is really not much of an evil guy. Well, neither is Creed, but I thought that they could be henchmen of some sort for one random evil guy. We can make him up. You know, he could have this whole superiority complex thingy. You're the one in psychology, you could tell me what to make him act like," John carefully steered the conversation away from the characters.

"Huh. Yah have been addin' characters left and rahgt. No more, got that?" Rogue said menacingly.

"Yeah, sure sheila. Ooh, I like what you've given Scott for a power. Laser beam eyes, schweet. It would explain why he wears those dorky glasses," John looked down at the sheet again, "Hey, you actually did one for Logan. Wow, I thought that I would have to fight you to get him in. Healing powers? What good are those?"

"They totally rock! Yah get shot by a gun, no problem yah wound closes instantly, rejectin' th' bullet in th' process. Some body sticks a knife intah yah," Rogue looked at John with 'isn't it obvious' written all over her face.

"Or out of you," John commented quietly, an idea beginning to form, "Ok, I get the picture. But why did you give Jean telepathy? That's what the Professor has. We can't have two people running around with the same power," John pointed out.

"Oh yeah? What would yah give her then?" Rogue challenged him.

"Umm, telekinesis," John said, using the first supernatural power that jumped into his head.

"What, are you serious?" Rogue began to laugh derisively.

"Of course I am! You couldn't do any better! Telepathy, huh," John found himself fighting for a power he really didn't support in the first place.

They began to argue about it heatedly.

"Ok, then," John got up, "We are agreed. Jean shall have telekinesis and minor telepathy. Creed will only be in the first chapter for a total of one paragraph. Ms. Monroe will control 'mother mature', as you put it," he made quoties with his fingers, "and Mrs. Darkholme will be a shape shifter," I would give anything to know where you came up with _that_ idea, he mused privately.

"When Ah said Mother Nature, Ah meant weather," Rogue also got up, brushing the grass from her black mini skirt.

"Yeah, whatever," John sounded bored.

Rogue rolled her eyes and picked up her backpack. John followed suit.

As he reached down his t-shirt sleeve slid up to reveal more of that angry purple bruise. Marie saw it and sucked in her breath angrily.

"Where did yah get that? Don't yah dare tell me that yah locker did this," she pointed at the bruise that John was hastily trying to cover with his t-shirt sleeve.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he mumbled defensively.

"Not as bad! The bruise is still red!"

"So, it's not like it means anything," John crossed his arms, wincing as this action stretched the bruise even further.

"How did you get it?" Marie wasn't going to give an inch, she knew that the bruise was fresh.

John looked at the ground, debating with himself. He knew that he should probably tell Rogue, but he didn't want her to think of him as a wuss. Also, he liked Lance and didn't want to drive an even bigger wedge between Rogue and Lance.

"I got shoved into a locker today," he opted for partial truth.

"Who shoved you?" Marie was shorter than John by several inches, but she seemed to tower over him right now.

"I don't know," John hoped that the exasperation in his voice would convince Marie, "When you are being shoved into a locker what you are watching out for is your books and things, not who did the shoving."

"You are trying to find out who did the shoving so that you can at least stay out of their way," Rogue countered hotly.

"Well, I didn't. Even if I had, what on Earth makes you think that I would tell you who they were?" John shut his mouth with a snap.

"What was that, again?" the sweetness in Marie's voice was thick as honey.

"Er, well, yeah. Gotta go," John waved and practically ran off.

"Yah don't get away that easy," Rogue yelled after him.

She hoisted her back pack to a better position and then took off after him. John wasn't a very good runner. For one thing he seemed to have this knack for finding every possible surface to trip over. Marie, on the other hand, was an expert at running, and she had a mean tackle.

They fell together in the grass about five yards away from the elm-maple.

"Why don't you want me to know who shoved you?" Marie gasped, John had kicked her by accident in the stomach when her tackle had sent them flying.

"I want to take care of this myself," John was gasping too, and wondering where Rogue had learned moves like that.

Marie started laughing, "That was all? You just led me on that great song and dance 'cause yah thought I would take away yah right for revenge? Yah and Pietro," she began laughing again.

John laughed too. They sat on the grass laughing for a while, as the afternoon sun sank below the horizon. John was really laughing, but Marie was just putting on a show for his benefit.

You're protecting someone Johnny boy, she thought. I don't know whom, but when I find out they will wish that they hadn't messed with you. It never occurred to her that it might have been Lance out for revenge, or that her attempts to make things right would be just as nosey as Lance's prying.

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration.

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.

.


	9. Chapter 9: Out at The Backs

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear reviewers: **

**Golylokz**

This one is longer, and has mucho foreshadowing and a small glimpse at a thief/rebel Storm (ya know, the way she was _before_ she joined the X-Peoples). My last chapter was just filler. I wanted a little more characterization on John and I really am trying to get them to finish off the Stratgey X chapter.

**Purity Black**

You are the winner! Ding, ding, ding, streamers flying, ect. Yup, that was from Fun and Games, and entirely accidental too. My good friend Da Shortstuff was proofreading/reading that chapter and noticed it. I thought that it was funny because there was no way that I had ever intended one of Taryn's lines ever to pop up in one of my fics. I don't hate her with a vengeance, but she's not interesting enough to randomly put things in for her. I am going to try and update weekly, every Saturday morning EST. Here's an even better chapter for you.

**RITA**

Thank you for that. I missed hearing from you. The secret code thing also shows that John has no intention of letting Rogue know that he is doing quite a bit of spying on her. It's not spying, but Rogue would take it that way if she ever found out. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. Say no more, say no more.

* * *

Lance stood just outside the school just as the rush had cleared away. He hadn't seen Rogue anywhere. Or John for that matter, although Todd wasn't pestering him to apologize to the Aussie.

He turned to leave, but was stopped by a boney arm.

"Oh no, you're not," Lance glared at Todd, "You are staying right here until Rogue comes out and then you two are going to apologize to one another."

"What for? She was the one who betrayed us, not the other way around," Lance snarled.

Todd just shook his head. Lance and Rogue were going to tear everything he had worked so hard for apart with their arguing. These people were his only friends; he couldn't take it if they disbanded over something as stupid as this. He knew that Fred felt the same way, which was why Todd had sent him to reason with Rogue.

He saw the large boy walking around the corner shaking his head. There was a distinct lack of Gothic girls in his wake so Todd knew that Fred had failed.

"If she doesn't show up in five minutes," Lance said, sitting down on the stair railing.

"She's not going to show, foo'" Todd said angrily.

He wished that Rogue was here so that he could take both her and Lance's empty heads and bash them together. Fred looked disconsolate.

"What!?" Lance yelled, "First you drag me out here to make an apology to someone who I don't want to apologize to. Then that person bails on this!" he clenched his fists.

"Hey, calm down Alvers. You're scaring birds," Fred pointed to where a group of sparrows had taken off in panic at the noise.

Todd looked at the ground. Lance and Rogue were fighting. Pietro had run off somewhere. The new member of their gang was the cause of the fighting, although Todd still didn't understand what John had done. All that would be left were him and Fred, and Fred actually had other friends outside of this little circle. Todd didn't.

"Who needs this," Lance stated angrily.

Lance got up from the rail and began walking in a random direction. His parents wouldn't be expecting him home until nine, if they were even expecting him, which he rather doubted. Actually he had to go to the bar at six, so scratch the idea of getting home tonight.

That still left the problem of what he should do in those three hours between when he was expected and now. He could go off and look for Pietro or do something useful like that. Not that finding Pietro would be much fun. They were best friends, but if Pietro was skipping then he was probably looking for someone to pick a fight with and Lance had reached his limits on fights for that day.

Maybe he might just walk past the Academy, and possibly see if John was hanging around there with Marie, again. It wouldn't be like he was looking for the two of them. It would just be that he happened to run into both of them, and maybe he owed Marie a _tiny_ apology. Maybe.

Todd kicked a pebble. He heard the duct tape on his shoe rip slightly. Drat it, now he would need to get some more to hold his shoes together. It had been hard enough trying to get his father to part with the three inches that he had begrudged Todd in the first place.

"Why are Lance and Rogue arguing anyway?" Fred asked quietly.

"Who knows, yo," Todd shrugged, "And who cares _why_ they were arguing. They were arguing. It doesn't matter why."

"But, if we knew, then we could help them," Fred tried to get Todd to look more cheerful.

"Help them what? Argue the school down?" the pebble took another flying lesson.

Fred shook his head and went to go catch up with Lance. Todd tried to give the pebble a few more flying lessons, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Yo Fred, wait up!"

Fred smiled as he heard Todd coming along. Now he had the back up that he needed.

The pair caught up with Lance about two blocks from the school, where he had started his own Flying for Pebbles class. Lance had his hands in his pockets, a sure sign that he had been thinking and was now feeling very defensive, and probably in the wrong. Fred and Todd knew that this was a subject that they would have to approach delicately and with diplomacy.

"So, what did Rogue do to piss you off?" Todd wasn't adept at either diplomacy or delicacy.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"We can't back you up unless we know what your point is," Fred pointed out.

"Skip it," Lance snarled.

"We aren't leaving until you tell us what's wrong, yo," Todd and Fred were obviously taking it in turn to argue Lance down.

Lance felt a little better. These people were his best friends after all, they would probably agree with him. Or at least sympathize. Even if they didn't, together they could devise a plan to get Rogue back from the clutches of Johnny, and by extension, the X-Kids.

"Let's go to The Backs," Lance said and the three ducked into an alley way.

The Backs was an abandoned building in between the docks and what served Bayville as a park. There was quite a lot of glass around the place, as well as old tires, other junk and a jungle of weeds.

In fact, The Backs was a lot more run down than it should have been. Todd had come across it one day when he was out wandering and made it into a second home. In order to discourage other people he had made it less livable than even Nature had intended.

As each member of the gang had become his friend they had added their own special touch. Most of the glass around the place had been donated by Rogue. Fred had given at least ten of the various tires littering up the yard. Pietro had done almost all of the graffiti that was scrawled up and down the walls of the building. Lance's contribution had been the old rusting Jeep out front. It was his endless project to try and make it road worthy again.

The reason that the dilapidated ruin was known as The Backs was because the only way to get to it was using just about every back alley that Bayville had to offer. It was just off a network of dead end alleys that could be only accessed by a street just three blocks away from school. Each alley ran into each other and eventually arrived at the front yard of the place.

Eventually the three boys arrived there, too, and Todd immediately hopped up onto the hood of the Jeep and sat down. Fred contented himself with several tires that he had arranged to take his weight. Lance glared at Todd, daring him to scratch the new black paint that the Jeep had received two weeks ago, and leaned back on the decaying picket fence that ran around the tiny yard.

"You both know I got a job, right?" Lance started in a soon as they were all settled, "Well, that job was at this really old bar. You know, _The Wolverine._ I thought that it was a pretty good deal because it is right by here and the pay isn't _that_ bad. Well, guess who is the owner, and guess the manager," Lance paused here allowing for any guesses to be voiced.

"I dunno, yo. Marie and John?" Todd hazarded.

"Yeah Lance, how are we supposed tuh know?" Fred rubbed the back of his head in confusion.

Lance sighed at the lack of imagination in his compatriots, "I walk into the bar. There's smoke everywhere. All hanging in blue coils or however smoke is described. I can see four shapes at the table, and then one of them comes up to me. She's this short dark girl, got this really tough look going. I mean she looks sorta like a fairy, but one that could eat through teak.

"She yells at me for a moment, but then she figures out that I must be the new employee. She invites me in with 'you will be doing this and don't depart from it' talk. Then one of the other people at the table yells 'You!' It was Marie. Johnny boy was with her. There was also the boss and owner of the place with them.

"He's another short guy, but not quite so dark, black hair, but other than that he's pretty pale. Again, tough enough to eat through teak. He doesn't look like a fairy, though. Not someone any of us would want to tangle with.

"He's Marie's father. The girl was Marie's sister," Lance looked around expectantly.

"So what? It's not like it matters yo," Todd said as he watched a beetle intently.

"I don't get it," Fred had a perplexed look on his face as he tried to figure out what was going on.

"What he means is that Marie let John into her life before she let us," a familiar malicious voice said from the gate.

The boys all started and whipped around to see Pietro standing in the open gate. He _looked_ like he had been running, his chest was heaving and there was a thick layer of sweat on his face. Odd for Pietro, because normally he could run a mile in about four minutes without breaking a sweat.

"Whoa, what have you been doing?" Todd looked askance at the taller boy.

"Therapy running," Pietro answered shortly, "What happened Lance? Rogue's not here, so may I guess that one of you idiots pissed her off again?"

"Yeah, Lance set into her before school for letting John come to the place where he was working," Fred explained, he was still trying to figure that bit out.

"I heard most of the story," Pietro cut the Texan short, "That's not the reason. It's not Rogue's fault," he addressed Lance, "We need to have a little talk with Johnny boy."

Todd shivered at the venom in Pietro's voice. Todd could see what was going on, Pietro was feeling put upon and up against a wall for some reason and he needed to lash out at someone. The last time he had lashed out he had earned the enmity of the entire skateboarding group, and their leader in particular, Evan Daniels.

Not that it mattered to Pietro whom he angered. He would take on the universe if he had to when he was feeling annoyed at someone. Pietro out for revenge was not someone who should be crossed.

Of course there were some people that by common consent you didn't cross. Rogue was one of them. They had never seen her when she had been pushed to the breaking point, and they never wanted to. The occasional outbursts were enough for them.

"No," Lance looked at the ground, "He's not the one we should be pushing around. We shouldn't really be messing with Rogue, either."

"What's with you?" Pietro shouted angrily, "Rogue lets this new guy who she said she doesn't even trust into her life. She lets him find out who her family is, and you just stand here and look at the ground without even trying to do anything about it!"

"Well, what can we do?" Fred pointed out.

This seemed to deflate Pietro a little, "Nothing, I guess. But we should try to do something. I mean, Rogue's our friend, not _his_. We just can't let her leave like that."

"Like you left today, you mean?"

Todd found himself pressed up against the wall of the building. Pietro's face was black with rage.

"You have something to say, Bugcatcher?" Pietro sneered.

Todd cringed. He hated it when people called him Bugcatcher, but when the person calling you that has you pressed against the side of a house with one arm then you tend to go along with what they say.

"No, of course not. Just making a general statement about the weather," Todd knew that he was stuttering.

Fred watched this display and wondered what was wrong with it. Sometimes Pietro did get like this if you said the wrong things to him, but by now someone had usually put their hand on his shoulder and told him to either sit down or face someone his size. Oh, right, Rogue wasn't here now. Fred took it upon himself to do this.

"Hey, Pietro," he carefully laid a gigantic hand on the thin shoulder, "Why don't you put Todd down?"

Pietro felt the weight increase slightly, "Yeah, whatever."

Although the reply was sullen, he let Todd down and slouched back to the fence as if nothing had happened.

"What was up today that you had to skip school today? Ms. Monroe was looking for you even," Lance put the bait on the hook.

"Yeah, well, I got the message," Pietro jammed his hands into his pockets.

"I never said anything about a message," Lance gleefully reeled in.

"Whatever," for once the speedster was feeling taciturn.

"Tell us what happened," Lance was tired of playing the diplomat and tried for directness instead.

"Look, I don't mess with your private affairs, so you don't mess in mine. I hang out with you guys to forget this shit. I'm gonna get enough flak as it is from my parents," Pietro ground out a dandelion with his sneaker.

They were all silent for a minute.

"Two years," Lance finally snorted, "It's been two years, and all of a sudden we're finding out about this stuff. We used to have things that we did not talk about. Things we didn't get into because we didn't want to have to care. Now look at us," his smile was cynical.

"There are a couple lines in the sand. Big deal," Pietro shrugged, "Simple point is that we don't cross them, right?"

"Hey, I'm cool with that. The first one has got to be that families stay at home," Todd shivered, there were plenty of reasons why this place was his second home.

"Yeah," Fred agreed slowly.

Fred didn't think that this was going to solve anything. The reason they were having all of these problems now was because they hadn't crossed those lines in the sand when they had first met. So, wasn't this just delaying the inevitable?

They all fell silent again. It was different without Rogue. There weren't as many drawn out pauses for one thing. For another, they always steered clear of any fights long before they came up. This was the first time that Pietro had actually gotten as far as he did with Todd. Inside every one of them was scared.

"This is a nice place you have here."

They all swung around.

Ms. Monroe was leaning on the dead pieces of wood that they called a fence. She wasn't wearing her usual white shirt and batik skirt combo that she wore at school. This Ms. Monroe wore denim and leather and looked like she ought to be riding a motorcycle into the sunset rather than teaching people how to project their voices on stage.

The boys goggled at her. Not only was this sudden transformation impressive, but this was the second time that day that someone had snuck up on them. They all drew together for protection against this unknown menace.

"Ms. Monroe?" Todd managed incredulously.

"Yes. I'm here for Pietro, I believe his parents are very worried," she looked him squarely in the eye and Pietro looked down at the ground and mumbled something.

"How did you find this place?" Lance asked.

"I saw Pietro duck into an alley and I followed him. Not an easy job. I had forgotten that back here was so maze like," she gazed at the surrounding buildings wistfully.

The boys all shared a glance that said 'what did she mean, forgotten?'

"It's five thirty already. Your parents are going to be quite a bit more than worried if you aren't home by dark," Ms. Monroe pointedly gestured at Pietro.

He went, his eyes fixed on the concrete. Lance, Fred and Todd all heard her say quietly as they rounded a corner, "Don't worry, I'll think up an excuse. But next time, be more careful."

Eyebrows were raised all around the circle. Yet another significant look was passed around, 'Why was Ms. Monroe covering for Pietro?'

Lance straightened up and looked at his watch, "Shit, I've got to get to work. See you," he hoisted his back pack and ran off.

Fred heaved himself up from his seat and waved good bye as well.

Todd sat alone in the abandoned yard watching the sunset, putting off going home by a few more minutes. With a sigh he gathered his legs under him and leaped the fence.

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration.

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.

.


	10. Chapter 10: The Start of a Long Night

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear reviewers:**

**Star-of-Chaos: **

Only too true. Plus, the Storm lady rocks. Hope that you like this one just as much.

**ASTG: **

Yeah, I know about buggy computers alright. Mine did something to my ability to find out if people had posted any stories once. God that was so annoying. Especially because almost everyone who I review regularly seemed to post a chapter at that time.

I will be updating once a week on Saturdays EST, when I get out for summer vacation it will be more often.

Yeah, Bobby was on that and boy was he like Scott with this awful superiority complex.

Remy better be in X3 that's all I'm saying. (Shakes fist at whoever decides which characters to use in the X movies)

**Goldylokz****: **

Thank you. Yes, Fred is a lot more people aware than most of the others. I've always felt very sorry for him because not only does Jean treat him like absolute trash in Evo, but he never gets any major parts in Fan Fics. There are plenty of Todd fan fics (not that I mind, we all loves Todd) and we are almost drowning in Lance and Pietro fan fics (I don't mind this either, I love the Brotherhood/Acolytes), but what about poor Freddy? I have the same gripe about Piotr.

Yeah, Da badass Storm lady does hang out at the Wolverine. I was going to have her in the chapter where we first meet Logan and Exie, but I thought that it would lessen the impact of the leather and denim biker goddess in chapter 12.

The project counts as both John and Marie's mid-term and their final. They have to get it halfway finished by the time their mid-terms roll around, then they hand it into Mr. McCoy. He reads it and makes useful comments and stuff and then gives it back to them so that they can have a finished, totally publishable idea ready for finals. Then the class gets to read what everyone did. I will make this clear in later on chapters.

**RebelRogue127: **

Oh, a new reader. I'm honored.

John does (in a way) find out the weird relationship that Raven and Rogue have through Raven. Dysfunctional family members should learn to keep their big mouths shut. That's all I'm saying.

Scott is pretty clueless about what happened between Jean and Rogue. But Jean isn't. Food for thought, there.

**JexyBaby****: **

Yet another new reader, I'm feeling very honored. I like your name by the way. Haven't a clue why. Probably for the same reason that I like the word trapizoid. I am a random person.

Glad that you like John and Rogue and the other Brotherhood members.

There will be many confrontations before this is through. What you've been reading so far is plot development and foreshadowing. It'll pick up, don't worry.

**snowee****:**

Thank you very much. You are my third new reviewer, you have no idea how honored I am feeling. I hope that you enjoy this chapter as much as you liked the last one.

* * *

The streets were lit by the tall lamps as Ororo and Pietro walked up them in the winding maze that would lead the sullen boy home. The sounds of laughter drifted on the air in defiance of the anger that was eating Pietro from the inside out. Ms. Monroe was quiet as she walked beside him lost in her own thoughts.

Pietro glanced quickly at her. She was watching the stars over head. The pale light from the bulbs above showed him that her jaw was clenched, even though her face was calm. There was nothing about her face to betray any emotion, but there seemed to be an aura of anger radiating outward from her tall figure.

Pietro wondered if she was angry with him. She did have every right to be, after all. It would be nice in a way if she was. He knew that his parents wouldn't be angry, only so worried that they would have at least thirty more white hairs when he got home. They would keep closer tabs on him after this.

Pietro ground his teeth. He hated his family. He hated the way they tried to watch him every moment of the day. He hated the way they tried to keep him away from his friends. He hated the cage that they trapped him in every time something like this happened. He hated the fact that they loved him.

He tried to let his frustration just melt away into the night the way he had imagined when he was younger that Ms. Monroe did.

Pietro reminded himself that he was lucky that the Maximoffs cared about him so much. He could be stuck with complete and utter bastards for foster parents like Lance, or he could still be living with his real father. This thought always made him see the Maximoffs in a positive light.

After all, they were really concerned about his well being. They tried their best to see that his father stayed away. But sometimes it wasn't enough. And their overzealous protection was just as much of a curse as it was a blessing.

The two people turned onto the street where the Maximoffs lived. It was not the best part of town, but it could have been a lot worse. The yards, for the most part, were overgrown and every house on the block could use a new paint job, but no one locked his or her door at night either.

They came opposite to a mail box with Monroe carefully lettered in the side. Pietro paused here, but as Ms. Monroe showed no sign of slowing down. He shrugged and trotted to catch up with her as she turned into the house next door.

Pietro resisted the urge to turn and run as he stopped by the mailbox at the top of the driveway. Unlike Ms. Monroe's the name wasn't painted on the side. Maximoff was scrawled in black permanent marker on the front. It was one of the first things that Pietro had done when he had first come to live here when he was eight.

Ororo knocked on the door. She wondered briefly if she could trust Pietro not to run off. The tiny shake she gave herself was almost imperceptible. This wasn't eight years ago, Pietro was not a wild, lonely nine year old any more.

The door opened to reveal the worried features of Marya Maximoff. She smiled with relief when she saw Pietro.

"Django," she called excitedly, "Django, he's back!"

They heard stomping from somewhere upstairs and in a few moments the brown features of Mr. Maximoff joined his wife's in the door way.

"What were you doing?" he said sternly, but the relief and worry in his eyes discredited the tone.

"Django, don't scare the boy," Mrs. Maximoff had tears in her eyes, "Come on in Pietro. Oh, thank you Ororo for finding him."

Ororo felt her hand being held and then Pietro brushed quickly past her, eyes on the ground. He stopped just in the doorway to hug his mother briefly, and then he went inside.

Django nodded to Ms. Monroe curtly. He was a short dark man with a fierce pride. It hurt him deeply that his own son trusted their neighbor more than the boy trusted his family. On the other hand, he was grateful to Ms. Monroe for getting Pietro to come back.

"Thanks," he began to close the door.

Ororo grasped the edge of the door with more force than he would have thought possible for a woman who did no heavy labor. She held it open where the door was, neither forcing it any further open, nor allowing it to be closed.

"Django, Marya, I think we need to talk about something. There was a reason why Pietro was missing today."

Django nodded resignedly. This was the one thing that he had no wish to involve some stranger in. Pietro did not deserve to have this shame brought to light.

"We know this already. Come in."

The door was held open for her. Ororo Monroe crossed the threshold as stately as any priestess.

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration.

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.

.


	11. Chapter 11: Darkness and Light

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear reviewers:**

**snowee****:**

Hi, great to hear from you again. Thank you.

**Star-of-Chaos:**

Look, I can't tell you the story behind Pietro and the AU version of Magneto for obvious reasons. Does the phrase "plot spoilers" mean something to you? Great to hear from you again.

**Crimson Lipstick:**

Wow, thanks a bunch. It is so nice to hear from a new reviewer. Please enjoy this next chapter, and read the other ones all the way through when you have time.

* * *

I am suspended in the dark. I cannot see or feel anything. My hand could be in front of my face and I wouldn't know it. I can't see anything. It's totally black here, blackness engulfing everything. I wonder, am I really seeing this horrible darkness, or am I the darkness. I am Nothing. He he.

There has to be something other than the dark, but I don't know what it is.

There is only the dark and that smell. Like someone was smoking in here. Was it me? No, Nothing cannot smoke. I am becoming nothing. Like this darkness. There is nothing down here but the darkness and me.

I can only smell the cigarette smoke. The smell makes me want to retch. I can remember the burns that cigarettes make when your skin is used as an ashtray. I can still feel them, even though they happened a few hours ago. Maybe it's those burn that are making that smell.

God it's so dark. I hunch down and curl up into a ball, but the pain of my bruises and these burns is just enough to keep me from sleeping. It's too dark in here. Dark, dark, dark.

Hehehe. Maybe I can make up a song. Dark, dark, dark, dark, dark, dark, dark…

* * *

John kicked his way out from under the sheets. He was breathing heavily and staring off into space. Finally after a long moment he regained his composure. It had been that horrible nightmare. He didn't know what he was going to do about it. He must have curled up and the sheet had dropped over him. That had probably triggered the nightmare. He hated darkness.

John rose from his bed and crossed to the desk where his first drafts of the chapter lay strewn out over everywhere. He grabbed a few sheets of the expendable copy and reached for the matches that he had taped to the back of the desk for emergencies.

There was the grating strike of a match head against the rough surface on the cover. Then there was that small puff of smoke and then the match exploded into glorious flame.

John watched the first one live and die with rapture on his face. There was nothing more beautiful than light and there wasn't a more perfect light than fire. Fire was everything. It lit the crazed smile that played over his face. His blue eyes sparkled in the reflected glow.

He lit a second one when the first went out. This match he allowed to catch a hold of the papers in his hands. The fire consumed them rapidly, leaving nothing more than a stinging sensation where they burned the tips of his fingers. He almost went back to burn more papers, but the first thing he found that was flammable was his notebook, which was open to Rogue's section.

The sight of a few inexpert sketches that he had made doused his burning spree like cold water. The only sketch of Rogue that didn't contain a frown was a tiny drawing that resided in the bottom left hand corner. The other two were glowering at him with such venom that he dropped the book hastily.

John sat back down on the bed totally wired up and too excited for sleep. If truth be told, he was also still too scared to sleep as well. John's shirt was soaked with sweat, and he noticed with disgust that his face was sticky with it, too.

Oh well, it was 2:00 in the morning, and while it was way past curfew, he doubted that anyone would be awake to be angry at him if he went raiding the laundry room for a clean shirt and washed his face.

He snuck out into the hall and tiptoed along the corridor to the bathroom. Not one fo the various snores coming from the other boys' rooms that lined the hall changed a single note.

The water that struck his face was cold, and he had to bite back a tiny yelp as it hit him. John quickly grabbed a towel to dry his face. He dropped it on the floor and was about to walk out of the bathroom, but thought better of it and picked up the towel and jammed it on the rack. This way no one ever need know that he had been up this late, er, early.

Getting to the laundry room and a new shirt would be more difficult. For one thing, the only way to get to the laundry room was to go through the girl's wing. If he woke up anyone he would be killed for sure. Dr. McTaggart would undoubtedly have _words_ with him.

But he made it to the laundry room without mishap.

It was coming back from the laundry room that proved to be his down fall.

There was a sobbing sound from one of the girl's rooms and he stopped to listen. The door to the room where the sound was coming from was slightly ajar. John leaned in to see what was wrong. John was the kind of person who had heard that 'curiosity had killed the cat' quite a lot.

Jean Grey was bundled up under her covers shaking with suppressed sobs. Her eyes we closed tight shut and it was obvious that she was in the middle of a horrible dream. Suddenly she sat straight up in bed, her eyes wide open, and screamed.

"Amy, watch out!"

John jumped about three feet in the air. Jean saw him and leaped out of bed like a scalded cat. Her cheeks were red with rage and the look in her eyes was murder. John stared in disbelief as she towered over him in only her bra and a thong.

"What are you doing here?!" she yelled.

John just stared at her. Jean's cheeks blushed to a shade of red that perfectly complimented her hair. She wrapped a blanket around herself and shouted, "Dr. McTaggart!"

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration.

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.

.


	12. Chapter 12: No Sleep and Coffee

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear reviewers:**

**Important notice!!**

**I will not be updating for a while.** I have hit a piece of writer's block with a crash, and now my creativity train has been derailed. I know what I want to do with this story, I just can't seem to get it done, and exams are coming up so this is a really stressful time for me. **Any suggestions on how to get rid of writer's block are _really _appreciated.** I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed any of my stories. I got absolutely no flames on anything (which was really amazing, as I expected someone to object to my Silver Blood fic at least once). Anyway, I would also like to say to my readers of Extending Evolution that it has been put on hold as well, and many, many thank-you's to epona04 and LoneWolf244, for being so patient, but I am stalled and waiting for inspiration to pick me up again. Oh, and I do promise soulstress, angyldevyl, and CDragon that I will review what they've done eventually, just I haven't been able to think straight over the last few weeks. Reviewer's block, I guess. And exams, evil exams.

Now on to the reviewer responses:

**ASTG:**

It can be green if you want it to be. Personally, thinking about the state of Jean's undergarments, even if it is only their colors leaves me feeling _very_ unclean. I'll let Johnny know that someone is concerned for his mental health after such a traumatic experience. I think that he'll be happy to know that your huggles go out to him. Can I get some of whatever you are on?

**snowee****: **

Drastic at the beginning, eh? Glad that you thought that this chapter was good. Even gladder that you liked my attempt to lighten the mood at the end.****

**Star-of-Chaos: **

Thank you very much; I was just jerking your chain with the "plot spoilers" bit. I just couldn't think of anything to write. I slipped that dark song in there as a little foreshadowing. I like a side step into insanity, too.

And now onto the considerate** Cheese Monkey: **

Who has left me, well, quite a lot of reviews. I'll try to go in plot wise order here.

Chapter 3: Wow, the first person to come out and say that they got that reference to Wanda there. Of course, there could have been all of those other people who actually got that reference and just decided to keep their mouths shut. I'm glad that you don't mind my accents, in one fic I went a little over board, but it was all in good fun (Hey, I found it hilarious that no one could read what I was writing). As to flames, if the reviewer is a flamer pro than they usually put why they think that your story is crap (Da Shortstuff said "I guess that your story isn't total sht, but it's too bloody long to read" when I gave him the first chapter of Extending Evolution). But, I have never gotten a flame from the fan fictioneers here, so maybe they don't know how to flame properly here. Constructive critiques are very much appreciated. I couldn't live without 'em in fact.

Chapter 5: I haven't bent to the fan girls' will.. yet, MUHAHAHAHAHA. Sorry, I just had this evil laugh that I have been dieing to use. Seriously, I am a closet romy person, but I really don't believe in teen love, so it is unlikely that there will be much romance here. Well, Lance and Kitty might hook up 'cause that's how Evo did it.

Chapter 7: Thank you for the kicks ass comment. You aren't being obnoxious. I like it when people want more, I have to be doing something right if that's happening.

Chapter 8: Er, no, that wasn't who was knocking at the door. But you know that by now. What's a squeedlyspooch?

Chapter 9: Prepare your noodles and eat them, then return to my story. Funny, you sound very much like my friend Haley. I am a closet conspiracy theorist. I will try not to pull you in anymore directions (personally I think that this chapter is just crap).

Chapter 10: Hey, I think that you are right about that. But I can't really change that chapter because so much is riding on it. Like chapter 11. And how Rogue places hand over mouth as plot spoilers start to tumble out There, now look at what you made me do.

Chapter 14: Yes, typos are the bane of my existence. What's even worse is when Microsoft Word auto-corrects things, like Rogue became Rouge until I fixed that, and one of my friends writing programs that I was using changed St. John to Jonathan. It's hard for people to write good stories when their source of material is taken off of the air shakes fist at the WB. Happy bunny, hehe, I love that mental image. Yayness, you also use words that are randomly suffixed with "-ness".

* * *

It was incurably hot for September and yet it was only seven thirty in the morning. John tramped along underneath the heavy load of his backpack. Normally he would have been busy jumping up and down as the humidity and heat struck everyone else down, but to day he wasn't feeling so great.

It was the combination of the absolutely disastrous school day that had only been yesterday and lack of rest. Not only had that stupid nightmare struck again, but he had to explain to Moira McTaggart what he had been doing in the girl's wing after dark about fifty times before the Scottish gorgon was satisfied and would let him go to bed.

On the bright side he had finished the first chapter. Yup, absolutely finished, no need for anymore editing, no more paragraphs, no more pathetic excuses for dialogue. Finished, done, fin. Now all he had to do was put it past the inspection of Rogue.

He walked to school, feeling slightly worried. Rogue might not even like the chapter. She'd probably kill him for the revisions that he had made. She wouldn't like the dialogue, he was certain. His characterization had probably sucked. The plot would be too passé.

"Hey John, wait up!"

John tried to slow down and increase his pace imperceptibly as he heard Lance's voice. The result was that one leg stopped and the other kept on going, swinging him in a half circle.

John faced Lance, who was looking hot and bothered, and possibly nervous. Lance noticed that John had dark circles under his eyes, and for once his boundless energy seemed sapped.

"What happened to you? You look like Hell," Lance winced, this was not how you were supposed to start an apology, but John seemed to have aged about fifty years.

"Marie tackled me yesterday. Then I had a nightmare. Then I startled Jean out of her nightmare, and she called in Dr. McTaggart. I got yelled at until it was time to go to school. Jean's not letting me share the same car as her, so I am now walking to school. I want sleep," John turned around again and started walking.

"Hey, sorry about yesterday," Lance called after him.

John waved a hand in reply. Lance shrugged. His duty was accomplished, he had apologized and now he was free to do whatever he wanted. He thought about skipping school for a moment, it was too hot to learn. But he might run into Marie, and then they might start talking about things. Not that he was looking to apologize, but the subject just might come up. Once Marie admitted that she was in the wrong he _might_ point out that he had been blowing the whole thing out of proportion.

And there was that absolutely weird issue of Ms. Monroe and Pietro that he needed to take care of. Maybe John would know. The Aussie seemed know more about Bayville than the natives. Lance ran to catch up with John again.

"Hey, what do you know about Ms. Monroe?"

"She teaches drama, right?" John's voice was monotonic, "Nothing. Do you like science fiction?"

"Not really," Lance was trying to see John's angle.

"Know anyone who does? Who's not Rogue I mean."

"Err, I think Kitty's friend, Webber, does," Lance tried to be more helpful, "I think that I could get you a coffee, or something. You look really weird."

"Yeah, yeah," John waved Lance away as they both came in sight of the school.

Lance stalked off to find the coffee machine, and John looked for Marie. She was chatting with some of her scary undead friends. John wondered at the fact that any of them could still breathe with all of their make-up on. He could go up to her and give her the papers, but he wasn't really feeling in the mood for strange stares today.

Lance came back with the cup of coffee, and handed it to him. John took it gratefully and chugged the whole cupful. He coughed and spluttered as the burning liquid made its presence known to him. Lance clouted him on the back sympathetically. John gasped out a thanks and the bell rung signaling the start of homeroom.

Rogue waived good bye to the girl she was talking with. The purple hued girl grinned at Rogue, "See you tomorrow in cosmetology, Marie. Don't forget that bolt of cloth. And," she grinned mischievously, "it'd be great if you could bring along that cute orange shadow that trails you around everywhere."

"Ha, ha, Betsy yah killin' me," Rogue did not sound amused.

"Hi, Rogue," John called, his mouth was burning, but he felt very perky at the moment, "I got the rest of the chapter. You can burn it with me during English. Tell you about Jean and the evil thong from Hell over diagramming. We'll meet at the Wolverine to discuss the next chappie, 'kay? Well, gotta run."

Betsy looked after the Aussie as he bounced away. Lance was near by, with a look that must have been similar to Doctor Frankenstein's when he first saw his creation lurch down to the village. Rogue bit her lip and said into that echoing silence that John had left, "Okay, then."

Betsy laughed, "He's a bit like Vash," Rogue and Lance gave her blank looks, "You know, from that manga that I was telling you about. Trigun. The main character is called Vash the Stampede. Very innocent and open guy, with this affinity for causing chaos wherever he goes."

Rogue just looked at Lance and then they all went inside with the rest of the stragglers. Rogue thought that she could hear Lance muttering under his breath, "What have I done? What have I done?"

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration.

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. Constructive critiques are better, but flames work for me if you are a good flamer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.

By the way, has anyone heard from Raven the Dark Angel? Raven hasn't updated Veins of Glass for several weeks.


	13. Chapter 13: Paper Airplane Insanity

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear readers:**

This chapter would not exist if it were not for the advice of Purity Black (stand up and bow girl) and Star-of-Chaos (you too, see that stage?). Everyone, if you want to thank them read what they've got out there. For those of you who are Rietroers Purity Black's The Cure is just perfect (and complete, finally). She's also got another story about what would have happened if Jean got picked up by Mystique instead of Xavier, very good (and I will review it after Monday when my exam load finally stops ;) Star-of-Chaos has 21 fics and I am certain any romy fan should check them out, there's a couple of Destiny fics thrown into the mix (Seriously why don't more people write her in as something more than a plot device? I bestow Kudos upon you for letting her have a staring role), and a few humorous Kitty and Rogue in the Kitchen fics. All of Star's stuff covers a pretty wide range, so do check it out.

Now for the responses to the last chapter:

**Star-of-Chaos: **

Yeah, the idea of Vash on a caffeine high worries me immensely. I give full credit for that idea to Hannah Da Doorknob who first introduced me to Trigun and read something else that I wrote with Johnny in it (Hannah has never seen an episode of Evo in her life) and commented that the two were similar. That monologue at the beginning was written after I had been studying for five hours straight and I still couldn't remember the correct format for a persuasive essay. It was 1 AM in the morning. I was not feeling all too chipper. Thanks for the advice, this is a very short and funny chapter.****

**Silent Stream: **

I loved the cute orange shadow comment, too. Yayness.

**Purity Black: **

Well, I have been studying and studying and I became so bored that I wrote five chapters! (Grins evilly) But I will continue my one a Saturday posts for a while (I don't really like some of the things that I added in, and so I'm in the process of ripping them out by the roots). Basically St. John's past is non existent and I have all of my information from people who live to make up horrible pasts on fan sites. Do you know if Amy's name is Amy? I haven't been able to find that out yet. I didn't even think of the Risty looked like Betsy even though she was Mystique thing! And it's one of those kinds of things that I love to put in. Many Kudos and a complimentary dust bunny for you. This chapter _is_ Pyro on caffeine. Short and funny in an evil way.

* * *

John bounced up and down in his seat as the bell rang to start English. Marie slumped down in her seat with a moan. Why did school have to start so early, and why did she have to sit next to the complete loon that was John Allerdyce on a cup of espresso?

John took a piece of paper a folded it into a plane. It flew straight for Marie's head, where it got tangled in her hair. John and a few other people giggled as Marie snatched the paper out of her hair, crumpled it up and threw it into the trash. That was it, Marie vowed that by the end of school there would be nothing left of John but an unconscious heap. Then she would hunt Lance down and give him the exact amount of pain that he had inflicted upon her with this madness.

Dr. McCoy stopped any further plans for revenge by coming in the room and making a sentence on the board for them to all copy down. Marie glared at her paper as the sentence looked up at her, daring the Goth to make one mistake in the diagramming.

A pencil eraser jabbed her in the back of the neck. She whirled around to see John pass her a note, grinning. She grabbed it, and then looked back at the sentence. She made a few lines off of it and wrote down random words from the original. There, diagram completed. Now, what did Mr. Coffee Crazed have to say to her?

She opened the note, read a few lines, raised her eyebrows, read the lines again, and then turned to John.

"Really? Lime green?" her voice was incredulous.

John gave her the thumbs up and nodded. Rogue turned back to the note. Maybe she wouldn't kill John after all. She read the note again, an evil smile curving her lips. If only John had a camera on him when that had happened, oh, if only. This was too good an opportunity for blackmail to pass up.

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration.

Ok, next up on the block; It's the start of the X-Impulse chapter as Lance and Kitty have chemistry together (with Paul, Tayrn, Betsy, and Todd co-starring along with a very er, _interesting_ chemistry teacher, muchos puntos if you can tell who)!

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. Constructive critiques are better, but flames work for me if you are a good flamer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.

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	14. Chapter 14: Cameo Chemistry

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear readers:**

Technically, this chapter should have been posted last Saturday. I had to go on vacation to place that has no computers! I am very sorry, and I will try to make amends. I also just found out that three people reviewed Chapter 15 and I never got their reviews, making it impossible for me to answer their questions, if they had them. Sorry to Kitrazzel Fayn, Brawn, and Cheesy Monkey, I now have found your reviews, and Here are the responses to them.

**To my dear reviewers:**

**Kitrazzel**** Fayn:** He is like Vash, causing catastrophe wherever he goes. Although, I finished reading the second set (stupid B&N wouldn't release the third when they said they would) of the Manga, and John ain't like Vash by the end of that.

**Brawn:** Thank you very much. It is always nice to know that people who haven't been reviewing are reading this. There ought to be a way for the authors to know if you've read a story or not (that doesn't involve reviewing).

**Cheesy Monkey (the review for chapter 15):** Thanks for the definition of the Squeedle spooch. I must confess that I have no clue about Commander Zim, other than the fact that he exists. I don't really have the telephone problem, because for the most part it's for my little brother. I really, really agree about the third HP movie. What the heck were they thinking!? My smallest complaint is that the werewolf is anorexic and obviously balding! And that's my smallest! I think that I may check out the nutboard, if I can stop writing long enough. By the way, there haven't been any lightning storms recently, so standing under my window illuminated by lightning wont't work. You could stand under it swathed in fog and humidity, becoming a beacon for all of the mosquitoes, horse flies, and deer flies that are here.

**Cheesy Monkey (again, but this time for chapter 16): **Rogue would have lost what was left of her sanity, eh? Hehehehehe. I don't know why, but that comment cracks me up. I probably lost my sanity writing that that chapter. Oh well, my sanity must have joined my dignity and gone out to roam the wild blue yonder, or where ever it is that they roam. Enjoy this chappy.

**Star-of-Chaos: **I suck at making paper airplanes too. At least, when I attempt to make them 'properly'. When I just do them any old way they work fine. The scary thing is, chapter 15, even though it was pitifully short, did help my block. I started thinking up ways for Rogue to use the blackmail against Jean, and lo and behold as they say in the bible (I love the fact that no one ever dies in the bible, their all smitted. And there's no sex, they all just begate each other. Sadly, this is all that I can remember about the bible). There should be more Destiny fics out there, I agree.

**snowee****: **well, it was more of a chapterette. Just my way of getting off of writers block.

**Purity Black: **Honestly, with the Amy thing, I just opened the phone book and ran my finger down the page. That's my tried and true method of making up names for my characters. You would not believe some of the crack pot names that are in the phone book. There is someone out there name Windstar Raintripper Smith. As for Pyro's past, I think that you are probably right, but from the reading that I've been doing on pyromania for the most part a catalyst is needed to start people from just going 'ohh, pretty fire' to actually picking up the match. Usually a traumatic childhood fits the bill nine times out of ten.

**Episodic: **There will be Remy. Now gimme your flame thrower. I need it to combat all of the undead people hanging around my house yelling for me to finish the story. There will be at least one chapter of Remy. I promise, all those romy fans out there (myself included) there will be one chapter set in Louisiana, but I suck at writing romance, so there won't be much. (Plus, teen love never lasts, and Romy should last, so just wait for Rogue to grow up a little more). I will check out your fic when I get the chance, I promise. For now I shall leave everyone a plug to it at the bottom of the page.

**Anna:** Wow, you actually read this story all the way through and English isn't your first language?! Holy cow. What is your native language? I know both Spanish and German, so if it is either of those, you could review in your own language. And you spelling is about as good as my own when I don't have a spell checker handy, so don't worry. I guess I like Pyro insane and slightly intelligent, but mainly insane. He's just such a cool character because he has a ton of versatility.

**ASTG:** I put the lime green bit in just for you. Funny, I would have said that Jean was either a Cancer or a Virgo. Scary coincidence.

**Crimson Lipstick: **Well, good on you for finally reading this the whole way through. Congrats and ring those bells. Thank you very much for your compliments.

* * *

"Paul, would you partner Taryn? Betsy, could you keep Todd occupied? And Katherine, it would be wonderful if you could stop writing 'I love Piotr' in your notebook, join us in the real world and work with Lance at this lab. If it's not too much trouble," the chemistry teacher, Dr. Essex, smiled thinly.

Kitty blushed and put her note book away to peals of laughter from the other students.

"Hard luck, Kitty-cat," Betsy said as the 'good' doctor walked away from the lab benches and began to write instructions on the white board, "but I told you not to doodle during _his_ class."

"I swear, he's a sadist or something," Kitty ground her teeth.

"Not half as much as you are," Todd muttered as he saw Lance try and hide how much 'I love Piotr' had stung him.

"Oh well, we had better get working," Paul sighed.

He glanced over at Taryn who was putting on makeup. He wondered if he could switch partners with Betsy or Kitty. Having either Lance or Todd as a partner would be better than this. The compact mirror that was held in Taryn's hand closed with a smug click. She turned to face him, her carefully done make up perfect as ever.

"Well, are we going to start?" she asked as if this wasn't what he had been trying to do.

"Yeah, I guess."

Betsy watched the two go with a shake of her head, "Poor Paul, he doesn't realize what he's gotten into. Oh well, Todd we had better follow their lead."

Lance got up to get the materials. Also, if truth were to be known, he was trying to get away from Kitty, who was now staring out the window and sighing. 'I love Piotr' burned itself into Lance's mind and he clenched the fist that was holding the thin glass beaker needed for the experiment.

"Maybe you should let your air headed partner get the supplies," Dr. Essex snatched the beaker out of Lance's hand and placed it with loving care on the lab table, "I have no wish to have you disrupt class with the need to dig glass splinters out of your hand."

"Sorry sir."

"What amazes me is that Dr. McCoy allowed you to pass geology last year. Maybe you have only developed this clumsiness over the summer, although I highly doubt it."

Dr. Essex moved on, his nasal voice making sarcastic comments at everyone who even looked at him cross-eyed. Lance had an over powering urge to shove the teacher's pale face up his, presumably, paler a--

"Hey Lance, where's the goggles?" Betsy asked interrupting his train of thought.

"Er, in that bin over there."

They settled down to the experiment. Lance went though the motions, trying to get his emotions under control. In a book this should have been the perfect set up. Guy gets stuck working with girl, who he likes, but she likes someone else, and they wind up becoming friends. She finds him witty and adventurous, and he is drawn to her sweet charm, and forgiving nature. Cupid has struck pay dirt, end of story.

Of course, Cupid forgot to factor in the fact that the girl is only too obviously head over heels for Tall, Dark, and Russian, Lance wasn't quite certain about how you were supposed to go about being adventurous, and the chance that Lance would ever be witty was one in a million. Lance tried to console himself with the idea that one in a million comes up nine times out of ten. He had heard it in a book that he had borrowed from Betsy one day when he nothing else to do and was waiting for Fred and Marie to talk Pietro out of killing Todd.

From Betsy's end of the lab table there was a poof of smoke and some coughing. He looked over as Dr. Essex swept down to admonish the blackened Todd and his gothic partner. There was another poof, and something red exploded from the test tube to create a diamond shaped stain in the center of the doctor's forehead.

Needless to say, class was dismissed early that day.

Lance walked to his locker intent on the keys to the Tech Center where his auto class project waited. There was also a can of spray paint in there in case he became bored. He was already designing a mural on the east wing lockers in his mind. The center piece would, of course, feature some reference to the red diamond currently decorating Dr. Essex's head.

Hmm, he had red white and blue spray paint, nicked from last year's Memorial Day parade float. Both the red and the white would work, and he could use the blue for shading, but there wouldn't be any contrast between the perpetual lab coat that Essex wore and his chalk white face..

"Hey Lance, can I, er, walk with you as far as the Drama class?" Kitty had miraculously appeared at his elbow, and she was looking shifty, "I have that next and you, uhh, know how err, hard it is to walk, umm, alone to someplace, epp," She ducked behind Lance as someone went by in the hall.

Lance tried to catch a glimpse of who it had been. He saw purple hair and combat boots before they whisked around a corner and were lost to sight.

"Why are you hiding from Betsy?" he asked perplexed.

"That was Betsy? I know her from the Academy, she's nice, a little eccentric, but," Kitty ducked behind Lance again as Paul began to walk to his locker.

"Yeah," Lance said slowly when Kitty came out of hiding.

There was something weird going on here, something very weird. Kitty did not look to him as her protector in the grand scheme of things. Not that he objected to this new world order, but it wasn't right, and Lance got jumpy when things weren't working out right.

Maybe it was PMS, or something. Lance decided that the safest course of action would be to drop Kitty off at the Drama classroom, and then go in to check on his project for the next half hour.

He wondered if he should ask her what was going on, but as Kitty turned around he caught sight of 'P. R.' above 'K. P.' surrounded by a white-out heart on her back pack. What did he care what some silly computer nerd was jumping all over the place about? Why would she confide in trailer trash like him anyway?

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration.

Ok, next up on the block: Rogue and John go to the Wolverine to decide on their new chapter and a ton of foreshadowing is thrown in. Why is Kitty acting so weird? Why is Jean sneaking around her all of a sudden? Why am I ending this short little summary with questions? I want to keep y'all in suspense, duh!

Oh, and read It Never Ends by Episodic if you are into romy all the way. It's a little confusing at first, but just remember, alternate dimensions can and do happen.

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. Constructive critiques are better, but flames work for me if you are a good flamer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.

.


	15. Chapter 15: Good Friends

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear readers:**

OK, the Stupid School Project is finally off Hiatus!! How the masses cheer. I expect that I'll be able to get back to my regular every Saturday posting, soon. This is just an extra special getting back into the groove Thursday update.

**To my dear reviewers:**

**Star-of-Chaos: **It would have been genetics, but most high schools don't offer genetics, so I though chemistry, just for the Lance Kitty interaction.

**Purity Black: **Yes, it was Guard! Guards! and you receive the prize for getting that. Lance needs rock puns to exist, he was very disappointed by the lack of them in that chapter. I enjoyed doing the Sinister cameo, too. He'll get a bit more screen time later on.

**Anna:** Really, really sorry about the long wait. It hopefully won't happen again. I always wanted to learn Portuguese. But I didn't, so that won't work. Oh well, you still really amaze me for having read this.

**ASTG:** Yes, it is Leo, but I can't see Jean as one. She doesn't have enough back bone.

**Crimson Lipstick: **I owe you some reviews, too. I've been on a slight review hiatus. I did read your story, and I have loved it, but I just never got around to reviewing. Really sorry. I'm leaving you a plug in exchange and the promise that I will review one day.

**Goldylockz: **Here's a bit more set up for you. Hopefully a few of the Batman style questions have been answered.

**Soulstress: **Sadly, this was the first review that you gave me, and that means that I'm really, really behind on my updates. John can't identify types of trees 'cause he's a dumbass, huh? I love that. It sums up exactly how people who can identify types of trees feel about people who can't. If you like Bets, well got some more in this chapter. Poor Lance.

**SlientStream:** Unfortunately my plans have changed, and we won't see Logan and Exie until chapter 19. But they will show up again, never fear.

**Steph14wales:** Thank you very much for your review.

* * *

Kitty walked through the Academy's gates swiftly. She looked around, the setting sun giving everything a warm golden glow, but to her relief she saw no one. Clutching her books to her chest she quickly made her way into the foyer of the mansion. This was where her first stumbling block appeared. 

The voices of Scott and Kurt were coming from the door to the kitchen, and heading closer to the entrance hall. Kitty quickly ducked behind the grand stair case, as the door opened.

"… and that's another thing, has anybody seen John at all, today?" Kurt was saying, his voice full of worry.

"He's going out with Marie, again." Scott ground his teeth.

"Whoa, slow down. What do you mean by again? Did you just say Marie? As in Miss Short, Dark, and Icy?"

"Yes, again, he went out with her the day she came to the Institute. And she's not short, unless you think that you are short," Scott commented, "She's got to be about your height."

"Judging her on height, now?" Kitty could almost hear the grin in Kurt's voice.

"What?! No! I just was saying that-- oh never mind." Scott cried defensively.

"She's a fine looking woman," Kurt nudged Scott in the ribs.

"Well, yeah, but those friends of hers--," Scott trailed off as there were foot steps on the stairs.

"Jean! Uh, hi, how are you?"

"Just fine, Scott," Kitty wished that she could laugh as lightly as that, "I'm looking for my jacket. Have you seen it anywhere?"

"The red one, right? Here you go. Where are you going?" There was a rustle of cloth as Scott spoke.

"Oh, just out with Duncan," Jean sounded happy, "Thanks a lot. I'll see you around dinner time."

"Oh, yeah-- well, umm-- have fun." Scott sounded just _so_ thrilled.

There was the sound of a car horn, mutters of "Do I have my cell phone?" cries of happiness when Jean found it in her purse, and then the front door opened and closed.

"What were we talking about?" Scott directed at Kurt as the sound of a car pulling out of the driveway died.

"Marie's a fine looking woman," Kurt reminded Scott conspiratorially.

"Yeah, she looks OK. But those friends of hers. Alvers is evil."

"Yeah, and of course the fact that he beats you in every Auto body showing that Mr. Cassidy has doesn't come into it at all." Kitty almost giggled as she imagined the way Kurt was rolling his dark blue eyes.

"It doesn't! Todd's just as bad, and don't let me get started on the fat man."

"Well, I can agree with you about Todd…" Kurt's voice trialed off as the two boys went out into the garden.

Kitty sneaked up the stairs, and went to her room. She felt very lucky to have a place like this. Even if she did have to share it with Betsy, it wasn't so bad, and she could always go to the library when Betsy began to blast Garbage at the highest volume.

Katharine Pryde dumped the books on her bed, and left the backpack on the desk. Her face felt stiff, and maybe a little sore, but other than that she was fine, and it could have been a lot worse. She went to the bookshelf and pulled out a volume of Poe that Betsy was "letting" her borrow. More like trying to force feed it to Kitty, but at the moment the girl didn't really have anything better to do, having already finished her homework.

Half an hour later Kitty was still struggling with _Annabelle Lee_, which was depressing in the extreme. She was so absorbing in trying not to throw the book out the window that she didn't hear Betsy come into the room until the girl started to talk on her cell phone.

"Yeah, I'm fine Brian; you can stop worrying now, luv. The Americans haven't corrupted me in the slightest. What do you mean any cute guys around here?" Betsy's cheeks became a little red, and it wasn't from her rogue. "Uh-huh, like a twin really knows. Brian you're a sick minded--" Betsy turned around and saw Kitty, who was trying to use her book as a shield, for the first time since Chemistry. "Gotta go luv, talk to you later." She snapped the cell phone shut. "Kitty, what happened to your face?" She exclaimed rushing over to her roommate's side.

"Nothing, just a slight accident." Kitty ducked under her covers.

Betsy pulled them off ruthlessly. She looked at Kitty in concern. The girl had dirt smeared all over her face, and there was some bruising along with a nasty scratch.

"You call that a slight accident?! I'd hate to meet what you'd call a real accident, then. C'mon Kit-Kat, what really happened?" Betsy said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Kitty fluffed the pillow distractedly, and hugged her knees to her chest. "Nothing happened, I was walking, and then I tripped. I'm a little sore, but other than that I'm fine, honest."

Betsy nodded, "Of course, you're fine. After all, scratches that have had gravel rubbed in them never get infected, oh no. C'mon, I'll take you to Dr. MacTaggart. I'll bet she's got something to say to you about not washing everything off as soon as possible."

"But Betsy, she'll yell at me, and give endless lectures, and I really don't want to go through all of that to get a little antiseptic." Kitty whined as she resisted Betsy's tugging.

"Well, tough toenails," Betsy told her severely, "I don't know the first thing about first aid. Oh, all right," She said, giving up in exasperation, "I'll see if Jean's back yet. She can fix you up. If she isn't, though we are going directly to MacTaggart."

The purple haired Goth girl hadn't a clue where to look for Jean but, she did know someone who would. She trotted out to the garage, and sure enough, under the hood of the cherry red convertible, Scott Summers was there.

"Hey luv," Betsy came up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Yahh!" Scott jumped, hit his head on the hood, and ducked out from underneath the car looking annoyed and rubbing the back of his head. "Don't do that! What do you want?"

"Where's the grey lady?" Betsy asked innocently.

"Jean? She came back about four minutes ago, and should be--," Scott paused, going over Jean's usually routine after she came back to the Institute, "walking from the library to her own room."

That boy has got to get a life beyond cars and falling in love, she thought with rolled eyes.

"Creepy, but thanks anyway." Betsy grinned and walked off after Jean.

Betsy found Jean on the Grand stair case snacking on an apple and trying to read geometry notes at the same time. Betsy smiled with evil intent as the red head's back was to her. She wondered if Jean would jump as high as Scott had.

"Hey luv, wha'cha working on?"

"Yahh!"

The mackintosh flew into the air and Betsy caught it deftly. Jean whirled around, glaring at the purple Goth, her hand over her heart. She stood for a minute glaring down at the girl, but eventually regained her composure.

"Betsy, you scared me. What do you want?"

"Kitty had a small accident, and I want you to see if she is OK. She's not exactly thrilled with the idea about listening to a lecture about how we should be more careful around this terror of the week from Dr. MacTaggart."

"Fine," Jean said walking up the stairs, and heading to the bathroom where the antiseptics were. "You know," she told Betsy, who had followed her, "You should show Dr. Moira a little more respect. She's a really nice woman, even if she is a little too dedicated to her research. She cares a lot about people."

"Pfft," Betsy commented, "I'll believe it when I see it. You should have seen poor Johnny today. He looked like an overcooked noodle until Lance gave him some coffee. She has a tongue like a bull whip."

Jean kept her mouth shut on her own views about "Johnny" which were not the most complementary things in the universe. She grabbed the antiseptic from the medicine cabinet and walked out of the bathroom, Betsy still grumbling about the Scottish harridan behind her.

Walking into Kitty's room she looked around and gasped. Kitty was staring in the mirror over the desk and trying to get the grime off of her face using a handkerchief and some spit. This had only succeeded in spreading the dirt, making her face an over all grey.

"Ohmigod Kitty what happened?" Jean cried feeling very protective of the young girl.

Kitty winced, although if this was because of Jean's sentiments, or because she had pressed too hard on the bruise on her jaw it was impossible to tell.

"I tripped, and the ground bit me. I'll be fine, Betsy's just afraid of germs. Do you have the antiseptic?"

"Yes, but we have to get you cleaned up," Jean said. She searched around the room desperately before settling on a pinch pot that Brian had given Betsy for their seventh birthday. It was large, and lumpy, but it was also glazed, and Jean quickly dumped the stones out of it, and pushed it into Betsy's surprised hands.

"Get some warm water, and when I say warm I mean warm."

Betsy rushed off to do Jean's bidding, returning seconds later to find Jean and Kitty sitting on the bed with Jean trying to find a clean corner of the handkerchief. Betsy placed the bowl in Jean's lap.

"Where did you trip, anyway?" Kitty's roommate wanted to know, as Jean finally found a clean piece of cloth, dipped it in the water, and began to clear the grime away.

"Walking from the school to the-- ow," Kitty flinched as Jean applied pressure, "Auditorium."

Betsy, who was still not all that familiar with the school's layout, was trying to make a mental map. Her attempts were not very successful.

"Auditorium's right next to the gym, right?" She asked hopefully.

"It's right in between the gym and the Auto class. It's where all of the Drama classes are held." Kitty replied, wincing again as Jean hit another sore spot.

"Oh," Betsy said, as the auditorium clicked into place. Something else clicked into place, as well, when Kitty said Auto class.

"Well, It looks like my talents are no longer needed here," Betsy commented, yawning slightly. "Jean, I think I'll go out for a walk in the park before dinner. If I'm a little late coming back, well, just explain to the Professor that I probably got side tracked."

Jean rolled her eyes. Betsy was very good at getting side tracked.

"If you think that I'm going to cover for one of your meetings with the boyfriend of the hour then you have another thing coming." Jean said to empty air as Betsy took the opportunity to slip out the door.

Betsy walked down the stair case considering her next move. She had seen Kitty with Lance, earlier that day. Lance, who was not the gentlest of people, had been walking her to the auditorium. That in itself was strange because Kitty obviously had the hots for the Russky, so why would she be allowing Lance to escort her anywhere? Marie had told her that Lance had the largest crush on Kitty, although it was very hush, hush, in the strictest confidence, and if you make fun of him I'll hunt you down and peel your skin off layer by layer.

Betsy did not like where her suspicious mind was leading her. She had the facts. They went something like:

1) Lance likes Kitty

2) Kitty like Piotr

3) Kitty comes home all bruised up

4) She says she tripped

5) The ground must be highly aggressive, re: she had bruises on both sides of her face

6) Maybe it wasn't the ground

7) Lance is a great guy, but gets very jealous very easily, re: the John and Marie incident

8) Lance was walking Kitty to the same place she says she "tripped"

So, now that Betsy had proof of Lance's guilt, she just had to find him. Marie had mentioned something about him having a job. So she should call Marie, find out where this job was, and then go there to rip his spine out through his nose. She dialed Marie's number on her cell.

"Oh, hello Ms. Alder. Is Marie home? Oh, really, I guess I'll try again later." She hung up with an annoyed look on her face. If she had been an evil villain Betsy would have said, "Blast, foiled again." However, Betsy wasn't an evil villain, and she still had one other line of communication open.

Dialing another number she hopped that Pietro would remember that he owed her. Or at least that she had found him exchanging saliva with a cheerleader one day near the girl's locker room, and hadn't told the cheerleader's boyfriend.

"Hullo Mrs. Maximoff, this is Betsy Braddock, I know Pietro from school. I was wondering if you could put him on, I need the math assignments. Thanks a bunch."

Betsy waited for a minute before Pietro came on sounding annoyed. "Who is this?"

"Betsy."

"Who? Oh yeah, Rogue's friend. What on Earth could you want?"

"Do you know where would be Lance, luv?"

"Uh, at _The Wolverine_, I guess. Why?"

"Curious. Thanks luv, see ya tomorrow."

Betsy shut her cell of with a click, and went to find a map of Bayville.

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration. 

Ok, next up on the block: Rogue and John go to the Wolverine to decide on their new chapter and a ton of foreshadowing is thrown in. Yes, this time you are getting that chapter. I had written it, but I thought that you would prefer finding out why Betsy was after Lance's blood before she makes her big entrance, and not after.

Oh, and read Crimson Lipstick's In the End, 'tis angst, well done angst. A Movie Rogue centric fic about depression and the eventual step, suicide.

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. Constructive critiques are better, but flames work for me if you are a good flamer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.


	16. Chapter 16: Bar Fights

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear readers:**

Err, I promised that this would be up on Saturday, but unfortunately I was woken up to do back to school shopping Last Saturday, and I spent Sunday moping around because I had to go back to school on Monday, and on Monday I had school. Normally I'm not like this, and very organized, but things got a little hectic (read: the year from Hell is about to start), so here you go, expect another update next Saturday, seriously, do expect another update. I will not let my schedule interfere with my writing.

OK, another point, could all of the romy fans out there stop asking me for Remy? He will arrive in all due time, that is all I have to say on the subject. Also, if there are any comic characters that you are just dieing to see, tell me. Chances are I'll put them in, even if I don't like them that much (cough, Sinistermustdie, cough).

I owe Lady Farevay, soulstress, SweetRevenge151, and any other crazy British girls I've met for showing me how to write Betsy.

**To my dear reviewers:**

**Crimson Lipstick: **Well, you are about to find out what happens at The Wolverine. I am including in other comic characters, and having a ton of fun doing so. Any suggestions (other than Remy, he will be in it, already have it planned out) are welcomed.

**Soulstress**Whee, long review. I'm going to start from the bottom of your review and work my merry way upwards, too. I've read War and Peace. I can sum it up by saying too much peace, not enough war. 'Tis very boring in some parts. Anna Karenina is depression city. Poe is wonderful if you are feeling like being depressed, but isn't good for much else. Yeah, Good Omens rocks! Have you gotten to the point where we meet Crowley's plants?

Macintosh's are a type of apple. Very yummy, and grown in the New England, New York area, chances are that if Jean had an apple, it would be a mac.

I have only heard a few things by Garbage (certain people in my family don't them), but I did like what I had heard.

I figure that Scott's a total anal retentive, he would know the schedules of everyone at the Institute by heart. Of course, he does know the routes that Jean takes-- OK, maybe a bit of stalkeriness.

Warm fuzzies help stave off the cold hardness that I develop at school, so I really, really need reviews.

**SlientStream** Witches Dance, huh? You'll have to play it for me sometime. You can never have too much sugar. Just ask soulstress. Glad you liked the nick-name. I like the idea of Kurt calling Rogue that and Rogue overhearing-- I am evil. Yes, Dr. MacTaggart is yet another comic character you aren't aware of. Remind me to explain her to you at a later date. Betsy isn't so evil as jumping to conclusions. You'll have to excuse her for being cross, it's a very long jump.

**ThessalyD**Coffee and John is a good combo. Of course, I haven't fully looked into all of the possibilities that are St. John Allerdyce on a caffeine high.

**Mendari**Gasp, it's you! Yay! gets serious warm fuzzies I already knew all about Johnny. The problem I was having with John was that there was little to no info on his teen years from the comics, apparently he discovered his powers and laid low until Mystique recruited him. So, I get to make his past up! Whee! I love artistic license. Sadly, your info on Jean was already given to me.

This ain't a Rogue/John. I am a romy fan deep in that burnt black thing I call a heart, and if Rogue isn't with Remy, then she can do just fine on her own. You aren't the only Rogue/Evan fan out there. I've read quite a few fics with that pairing. I can't say that I like it, but you have obviously found a reason to like it.

Ahh, no, don't get struck by lightning! I need to find out what happens in Luckiest Girl, and Shades of Jean Grey!

Write me a fic about John's past. I command it!

Yes, I am an Emma addict, too. Your review kinda pushed me over the edge. I am going to include her, and the Hellions. Hehe. Evil plans are formulating.

Wanda and Pietro interactions will be-- interesting. You notice how I haven't introduced the AU version of Magneto yet.

Honestly, when Betsy's in a temper, she doesn't really think about what will happen. Of course, Lance could make her into purple haired gothic paste, but he'd be rather startled if-- Hey, you'll find out, just read the chapter.

**EmeraldKatsEye**I passed the message on. Betsy is feeling very guilty, she would make it up to Lance by buying him a drink, but Dani made off with all her money. There's Ryro subtext in this? Where? I was trying to write this carefully so that romance wouldn't come into it. Oh well, once I find it I will sit back and laugh at myself. Remy will show up later! I promise. For crying out loud, they have only just started to work on the X-Impulse chapter of the story, Remy is closer to the middle of this epic.

**Kittrazle**** Fayn: **And you're back, happy dances for the reviewer re-joining the craziness 

**Rogue Warrior Spirit:** Ooh, new reviewer, thankies!

* * *

"Why are yah here, again?" Marie asked John in exasperation.

"Well, that's a good question," John said, tapping the eraser on the booth top in _The Wolverine_, "Some people say that God took seven days, and voila! The human race was born. Others hold that it was all a soup in the beginning, and it slowly evolved into semi intelligent life."

"Why do Ah even bothah?" Rogue asked the ceiling.

"Hey, Exie, which do you think: Darwinism, or creationism?" John yelled at the girl who was currently balancing five bowls of beer nuts and pretzels in both arms.

"I don't think about it," she growled, dumping three of the bowls into John's unsuspecting hands. "Place those at even intervals around the bar."

It was an hour before six o'clock, the bar's official opening time, but Rogue had been feeling in the mood to see her family, and it did make a good place to write. She still wondered why John was here. He seemed to have followed her all the way from school, and he had been asking inane questions. The omnipresent note book was out, of course, and he had been jotting things down again.

Exie was trying to get everything ready for tonight and muttering things about how rocker boy should be here, even though Logan had reminded her that they had advertised it as a six to midnight job. Exie just grumbled some more. She seemed to be trying to do everything at once, with Rogue helping out where she could, John happily debating random topics with whoever would listen, and artfully dodging any attempts made by Exie to make him useful.

John was probably about to weasel his way out of the job, or get Marie to do it for him, but Lance walked in at the moment. He looked around, spotted Marie, and went slightly red, although it was hard to tell in the gloom.

She looked at him and glared, pushing John and the beer nuts toward the bar.

Lance rubbed the back of his head in a nervous way.

"Well," Rogue got tired of waiting, "Are yah goin' tah say it or not? Yes, Ah brought John here again. Yah have a problem with that?"

"Um, not really," Lance lied, but remembering the decision that the others had come to at The Backs. "Todd's been sorta on my case, so 'm sorry 'bout yellin' at you." He mumbled.

"Yeah, well," Rogue looked at the ground and rubbed her arm in an embarrassed way.

Exie walked up with a broom and thrust it into Lance's hands, "Yeah, well, now that you're here make yourself useful and start sweeping." She told him tartly.

Logan chuckled from behind the bar as he polished pint glasses. John, who was positioning the beer nuts just so, and trying to make Exie think he was actually being useful, snorted. Rogue patted Lance on the shoulder and then went behind the bar to help Logan with the glass polishing. Exie just stalked off to check that they had enough beer on tap. As she passed John she thrust a rag into his hands.

"Wipe off the tables." She told him shortly.

After she was certain that they had enough of everything she looked around, checking everything that needed to be done off on a mental list. Tables cleaned, check. Glasses cleaned, check. Floor cleaned, check. Beer on tap, check. Beer nuts placed around the bar, check. Pretzels in place, check. Moving the days deliveries into the storeroom, che-- no, damn.

Exie uncrossed her arms and stalked into the store room. The dark cool room was also used as the back way into the bar. They had the deliveries placed by the back door, and it minimized the effort and amount of heavy box carrying that had to be done. An efficient design, and Exie approved of efficiency. She sighed as she opened the back door and began to move the boxes that today's shipment of bottled beer had come in into the cool store room.

John twisted the rag in his hand. He personally thought that the table tops looked clean enough to him. Of course, he wasn't really very good at keeping rooms clean, just look at his own, and wiping tables was such dull work. John looked imploringly toward Marie who shook her head, but Logan walked around the bar to take the rag from John's hand.

"I'll do it, Kangaroo." He growled, pushing John down into a seat.

The notebook materialized and John started scribbling furiously. He just wasn't cut out for heavy lifting types of work. So he tried to look just as industrious as the rest of the people here. When Exie came out of the back room her idleness scanner would hopefully skip right over him.

In the five minutes that it took Exie to finish putting the supplies away Logan wiped down fifteen of the sixteen booths, and all of the tables and chairs scattered about the place. He was working on the last booth, and ready to give the bar a final rub down when she came back out of the store room carrying two more bowls of pretzels.

If it were not for the handy intervention of Lance the pretzels would have scattered all over the floor. However, he managed to catch them as they dropped from Exie's nerveless grasp, without one of the salty sticks falling from its bowl.

"What are you doing Logan?" Exie asked.

"Wipin' the tables so's the customers can use 'em," He replied calmly.

"But I told John to do that." Here she gave the Aussie a murderous glare, which promised pain later. "Go back to finishing off the glasses; I can take care of the wiping."

"Almost done," Logan still seemed calm, but John noticed that the knuckles griping the rag had gone white, "Marie, you waitressing, or was this a social call?"

"Social," Rogue responded, "Ah need a booth for writing purposes, an' Irene expects me back bah seven. She wants tah make a real surprise for dinnah. Ah kin smell th' jambalayah from here."

"Well, if you want a private booth writer boy can occupy one, and as soon as you check the pool table you can join him," Logan stated, ignoring Exie's angry glares in John's direction.

"Whah ever for should Ah check th' pool table?" Rogue looked amazed, "Creed an' Marvel Lady usually don' mind if a ball is missing."

"Tom's in town again," Logan pointed out succinctly, "If one Cassidy enters a bar another will soon follow. I'm expecting a grudge match of pool tonight." He chuckled.

"Ah'd better check th' cues as well, then." Rogue decided as she walked over to the pool table. "We can't have drunk Irishmen claimin' that th' game was a set up because one pool cue broke."

John snuck into the booth underneath the watchful glare of Exie as Rogue and Logan talked. He hunched down, hoping that Exie would forget him as she went about her business, and wondering what the chill factor had gone to absolute zero when Exie had seen that he had convinced Logan to do his job. Pulling out the notebook he wrote down the names from his list on one sheet of paper.

Rogue slid into the booth a few minutes later.

John looked up, only to be met by Exie's scowl as she was passing from the front door to the bar with another box in her arms. He then turned to Rogue who was wearing an identical scowl, although it seemed to be directed at the universe in general, and not him in particular. John felt very grateful for this.

"What's with your sis? She looks like she wants to skewer me." John shivered.

"Exie's got a morbid view of mortality." Rogue sighed, "Ah think that she's tryin' tah get Logan tah stop doin' so much. If yah haven't noticed she does most o' the work here. That was how she convinced Logan tah hire Lance, she said that she needed the break, but Ah notice that Logan's extra stuff is what Lance is doin' now." Rogue found an empty beer nut bowl and began to play with it.

"So, Exie's just being over protective. When she disembowels me that'll make me feel so much better." John commented as he began to tear the paper up into strips.

Rogue glanced at him sharply, he was doing that thing where he sounded totally sincere, but there was no way that he could be happy at this turn of events. "Yah know what Ah hate about yah, Sin Jin?"

"My lack of knowledge about trees?" John shrugged.

"Ah kin nevah tell when yah bein' sarcastic."

John looked at her as if Rogue had just said she didn't know what one plus one equaled.

"It's quite simple, shiela, y'can tell from m'tone of voice. And I add in the occasional rolling of the eyes."

"Rahght." Rogue said sarcastically.

"See, that's perfect." John commented cheerily, "By the way, what was that whole thing with the pool table ritual?"

"Huh," Rogue laughed, more sarcasm, although John did not point this out, "Yah know the shop an' Auto class teacher, Mr. Cassidy? He's got this cousin who's sort of the black sheep of the family. Nahce enough guys, but yah get 'em in the same room an' they try tah kill each other. Unfortunately for us, the same room happens tah be the bar because Logan goes way back with Mr. Cassidy, an' he hasn't ever thrown Tom out, no matter how intelligent that action may be. Don't worry; we'll probably be gone before they come. What yah doin'?"

Rogue pointed to the strips of paper.

"Oh, well, we need t'work on the story, right? I was thinking that with this chapter we should add a few more characters. I like the idea of choosing people at random, so I thought that we could draw names out of a beer nut bowl. Or something."

"'Kay," Rogue said, putting the bowl down and filling it with the paper scraps. "So, Ah'll pick the names out an' we use them. Just one question, how many new characters are we usin'?"

"Whoa, whoever said anything about you picking out the names?" John asked crossly.

"Excuse me?" Rogue looked at him, slightly astonished by his out cry.

"Well, you've been pickin' all of the names an' choosin' characters all over the place," John pointed out. "I thought that maybe it should be my turn."

"But, this is mah story—," Rogue trailed off at the look on her "partner's" face. "Fahne," she said throwing her hands in the air, "yah can choose one."

"And y'can choose one as well," John said, his good humor returning like the sun from behind a cloud. "That way we can introduce the characters slowly and build up to the climax by usin' the tension created between the different personalities."

"Who said that there would be tension?" Rogue bristled at John's smug, all knowing manner. "We could pick both Betsy an' Kitty. Those two live in the same house, and they seem tah lahke each othah well 'nough."

"Y'obviously haven't tried to hang around the Academy on a Saturday afternoon then." John pointed out dryly. "It starts out with: 'Kitty, stop banging on that typewriter!' Five minutes later music begins to blast and it's all: 'Betsy if you don't turn that garbage off I'll destroy your boom box!' It goes down hill from there."

"Not much of a story," Rogue yawned, her gloved hands dipping dangerously close to the bowl with the names.

"Look, all I'm saying is that if we pick two people who happen to be on the same side, so to speak, we can have the chapter be about the conflicts of their personalities, and not a life or death battle over getting someone on the team."

"Ah lahke life or death battles," Marie muttered mutinously.

However she dipped her hand into the bowl and pulled out a name when John did. Like it was an ancient ritual the two teens carefully handed the slips of paper they had drawn to each other, not opening them. Then they opened the papers so that the name faced the writer across the booth.

"Katharine Pryde," John muttered as he read the paper between Marie's fingers.

"Lance Alvers," she replied.

"One life and death battle coming up," John grimaced.

At that moment the door to _The Wolverine_ burst open and an angry Betsy strode up to Lance. The stocky boy held the broom like a shield between him and the furious girl. Betsy looked like she was about to spit knives, her eyes seemed to glow yellow in the bad lighting, and her teeth were bared in a snarl that would have made Creed proud.

"You!" she yelled pushing Lance back a step, "You have a lot of nerve doing that to her! I thought that you cared about her but obviously you are noting but a cheap dirty bully! You friggin' cunt! You bleedin' wanker! You—you—you piece of white trash!"

Betsy brought her fist up, ready to give Lance's jaw a love tap when someone grabbed her arm. The Brit tried to wrench it free, but the grip was like stone, and when Betsy struggled it tightened like a vice. She whirled around to look down into Exie's hot eyes.

"Explain why you are attacking my employee." Logan growled from behind the bar. He had a shot gun balanced nonchalantly in the crook of his arm.

"He beat up my roommate," Betsy answered, matching growl for growl.

"I what?" Lance asked, thoroughly confused by Betsy's attack, and the word cunt, which was not in his vocabulary.

"You beat up Kitty!" the purple Goth rounded on him, "Er, you did, didn't you?" she asked after seeing his mystified expression.

"No," Lance told her in absolute refusal. He stiffened as the words hit home, "Who attacked Kitty!" he grabbed Betsy and began to shake her by the shoulders.

The poor girl was still being held by Exie. Her arm had begun to lose some feeling in it, and now her head was snapping back and forth. It was at this moment that Marie decided to step in and end the soap opera.

"Lance, let go, Bets can't tell yah anythin' if she doesn't have any teeth left. Exie, Logan, s'alrahght, the soap opera will move back tah the booth now."

The shot gun was already back under the bar, next to the till, where it belonged. Exie let go, but gave Betsy a look which made the ones that she had been shooting at John pale in comparison. Marie led her friend over to the booth, and plunked her down beside John, who generously scooted over. Lance followed, his fists clenched, and fury written in the set of his shoulders.

"Yah mahnd explainin' what this is all about?" Rogue asked, her arms crossed.

"Kitty came home all bruised up, and when we asked her what happened she told us that she fell walking from the school t'the auditorium. I saw you walking her there," Betsy looked at Lance. "Everyone knows you have a crush on Kitty and an awful temper, and we all were there for the 'I love Piotr' section of chemistry."

"And so you thought I beat Kitty up, 'cause I'm a jealous hood," Lance finished for her, earning the Allerdyce award for exasperated sarcasm. "Yeesh, who needs enemies?"

"Hood?" John asked Betsy cluelessly.

"It's American slang. It means delinquent. Who knows why, they're weird over here." The Brit informed the hapless Aussie.

"Hey, at least it's not as bad as--," Lance paused, "What's that stupid thing that the British say?" he asked Marie.

"Almost anythin' that come out of their mouths," Rogue told him, "But that's not the point. If Lance didn't attack Kitty, who did?"

"Maximoff?" Betsy shrugged.

"Hey, look," Rogue was beginning to get fed up with this constant assumption by everyone, "Can we fahnd suspects who aren't mah friends? Anyway, 'Tro wouldn't evah touch the Kit-kat bar 'cause Lance would stomp him if he tried."

"We could follow her around all day," John proposed, "We were going to have to do it anyway, why not kill two birds with one stone?"

"Uh, stalker much?" Betsy suggested, then she re-ran what John had just suggested through her head. "Wait, what didja mean 'we were going to have to do it anyway?'"

"It's for the English project we're doin'," Rogue reassured her.

"Why do you think following her around would work?" Lance asked, incredulously.

"'Cause, if she was beat up once, it'll likely happen again," John told the tough boy, "With Kitty's brains it's probably someone who isn't head of the calculus class because of her. IQ is always punished."

"Oh yeah, like brainiacs have it so b--," Lance was cut off as Exie tossed an apron into his face just as Rogue stiffened at the familiar roar of a motorcycle.

"Creed's here," Rogue hissed darkly, and fished around in her back pack for some playing cards. "Well, Ah don't know 'bout yah two, but Ah've gotta wait anothah hour 'fore Ah can go home. Anybody up for a round of BS?"

"I should probably be going back to the Academy," Betsy sighed.

"An' I don't know how to play," John shrugged.

"Really, you don't know luv?" Betsy began to grin with evil intent, "I think that I can stay for a round or two."

Marie began to deal out the cards as Betsy gave a convoluted explanation of the rules to John. About half way through the dealing, the door swung open and Creed walked in. He looked around, saw the teens and muttered something about the neighborhood going to the dogs. He then stalked over to the bar and walked around it several times before choosing the same stool that he had sat in for the last twenty years.

Betsy broke off in the middle of explaining why John should bet money on the out come of the games. She hadn't been getting very far in her conversation, anyway.

"Whoa, who's tall, tan, and hairy?" She whispered to Marie.

"Creed," the girl bit off shortly.

"Huh, he looks like he eats road kill. I didn't know that this place was licensed to serve pets." Betsy giggled.

"Unfortunately we are," Marie grumbled.

Creed growled from his bar stool, where he sat, waiting impatiently for a beer. Logan filled the pint glass and slid it over to him. Almost immediately the door opened and Captain Rogers, followed by Lieutenant Carter trooped in, seven other police officers following in their wake. They all ordered, and soon Exie was flying back and forth between the drinks appeared. The door opened yet and Ms. Danvers strode in, her back straight as a ramrod, and ice white hair in a mathematically precise bun.

"Thought that you would be here laddy buck," She walked over to Creed, "You owe me twenty dollars from last night's game."

"Did she just say laddy buck?" a British voice from an occupied booth whispered and there was a round of teenaged snickers before everyone was silent, ready to watch the proceedings.

"And you still owe me fifty from last week," He drawled, taking a gulp from his pint glass.

"If we're keeping tabs on everything that we owe each other, you owe me another forty dollars from August." She informed him tartly.

"How 'bout we settle this in the time honored tradition?" Creed was already moving from his bar stool to the pool table.

"Agreed," Carol Danvers picked up a pool cue.

The light began draining from the sky, as more customers came in. Rogue watched her surroundings, noticing the little melodramas that were enacted, and wondering why these people did what they did. Feeling in a philosophical mood she tried to capture everything about this scene. There was a pattern to the way the people interacted with one another in the smoky bar.

Cops coming in, just off their shifts, were the easiest to tell. They walked in like ghosts, somber and quiet, buying large amounts of beer, or in the cases of the ones who had finally admitted to themselves that they had problems, they bought large amounts of juice and soda. They would sit in the corners of the room, not talking, wincing at every loud noise, and drinking long and deep. Marie wondered if they ever really did lose their memories of what had happened. Could they bury their lives with just a few drinks?

Of course, this contemplation did mean that she wasn't paying much attention to the game, which had switched to poker without her noticing. It wasn't until Moonstar's quiet granddaughter collected the money at the center of the table with a royal flush that Marie even realized that she had just lost twenty dollars.

"Card sharper," John muttered as he watched his five dollar bill disappear into the fourteen year-old's jean pockets.

"At least you didn't lose thirty four dollars," Betsy grumbled, glaring at her full house.

Danielle smiled winningly, "At least you can now feel proud that you have donated to a member of an ethnic minority's motorcycle fund."

"Ooh, what are you thinking about getting?" Rogue asked, the light of car happiness dancing in her eyes.

Both John and Betsy were left in the dust as the conversation took off, the two girls talking about things like "makes" and "horse power." Exie stopped by the booth, too, and they were all treated on a lecture about chrome. Apparently Exie's contribution was very controversial, as Rogue began to pull her points apart with venom.

"It must be an American thing," Betsy and John agreed after watching the girls without saying anything for ten minutes.

The argument was cut short as the door was thrown open and two new customers walked into the bar, arguing at high speed in Irish brogue. Exie's trouble radar went into over load and Lance was so surprised at the second customer he almost dropped a glass that he was handing to Logan.

John looked up, curious to see why Exie was so on edge. Walking toward Logan were two men, who were about as similar as day and night. One John recognized as being that teacher he had seen around school. His reddish brown hair caught the light in such a way that it turned golden. Unlike his companion, this man was slightly unkempt, with a three day growth on his face, and the hair, no matter how golden, had obviously not been brushed. There were oil stains on his hands, and the sweater that he wore over his t-shirt was unraveling at the elbows. However, this only added to the aura of solid competence that he seemed to exude.

"Is that Mr. Cassidy?" Betsy asked, blinking at the tall man.

Marie nodded matter-of-factly, and began to put her cards away, as Dani looked at the two men with curiosity.

The other Irishman was just as tall as Mr. Cassidy, but slimmer. Instead of reliable strength this man seemed to be built along more wiry lines. However, there obviously were muscles underneath the black shirt, and leather jacket. This stranger seemed to be as neat as Mr. Cassidy was disheveled. Every black hair was neatly combed back from his face, and the goatee and mustache that framed his sardonic mouth would have passed inspection with flying colors.

"I'm simply saying, Sean, that Theresa is doing perfectly well being home schooled." The dark man's black eyes were snapping with anger.

"I dinnea mean tha' yea were doing a bad job Tom," Sean rounded on his cousin with annoyance plainly showing on his face. "I just think tha' mea daughter should be with children o' her own age."

"First that Frost bitch and now you!" Tom exclaimed, "Theresa doesn't need to be with children of her own age. She can hold her own in an argument with people twice her age. Or don't you remember the last time you tried to get her enrolled in a public school? She came running home crying because no one wanted to discus the reasons Socrates was killed with her."

"Logan, give us a beer," Sean said glaring daggers at Tom.

"I'll get our table ready." The neat Irishman said, walking up to where Creed and Carol Danvers were playing pool.

"This is our cue to exit," Marie said to John and Betsy as there was a snarl from Creed.

"Aww, do we have to? I want to see the end of this." Betsy whined watching the two men with a grin on her face.

John shrugged, he wasn't all that keen on getting caught in the middle of another crossfire. One a week was enough for him. He tried to squeeze past Betsy, only to end up sprawled across her lap because he tripped over his own backpack.

"Aw, didn't know you were so attracted to me, luv," Betsy grinned at John's embarrassment and then let him pass.

"C'mon, Ah smell the jambalayah waitin'," Marie pulled Betsy up, and the three friends headed out the door.

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration.

OK, I await your reviews, and next Saturday you shall see another post from moi.

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. Constructive critiques are better, but flames work for me if you are a good flamer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.


	17. Chapter 17: Coming Home pt 1

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear readers:**

If there are any comic characters that you are just dieing to see, tell me. Chances are I'll put them in, even if I don't like them that much (cough, Sinistermustdie, cough).

Like I have mentioned before I owe certain people reviews, and I am even making a list of people I must review before the week is up. To those people, Mendari, Soulstress, SweetRevenge151, Star-of-Chaos, Illusen, Crimson Lipstick, Ocean Clone, The Scribe3, Episodic, Epona04, and SilentStream, I am REALLY, REALLY SORRY! Everyone who reads this should know that all of the great writers really deserve reviews. Do me a favor, look one of them up on search, check out on of their stories, and drop them a line or two instead of reviewing this chapter.

By the way, this chapter is part one of a bigger chapter. I only split it up because the point of view changes around. Part two will be posted on Sunday, and Part Three will be a special Monday post.

* * *

**To my dear reviewers:**

**Soulstress: **I love the Bentley! My favorite part of the book is when Crowley asks Mr. Tyler for directions. Actually, when everybody asks Mr. Tyler for directions it was good.

Eternal rain, hehe. You obviously haven't tried living where I do. It's eternal rain, humidity, and snow. Not fun. I love macintosh the comp, as well, but I don't know why Jean would try to eat one. Although the mental image is very funny.

Sadly, I'm not in University/college yet. I envy you.

I used the get tips from Scott thing in this chapter. Hope you don't mind.

Well, I assume that to the British, and Australians, we Americans seem to do stupid things (electing Bush, cough). I am beginning to wonder if stupidity is genetic. A nation of stupid people, wow, that is a scary thought.

Jambalaya is a scrummy southern dish, **very spicy**, and very tasty. If you are ever in Louisiana you should try to get a bowl. Although, be careful, if you have allergies to seafood, some types of jambalaya might not be a good idea.

Like I said, the sugar is much softer than the floor.

**SlientStream:** That's rock in the music sense, but it is also a pune, or a play on words (read more Pratchett if you did not get the last part). The idleness scanner is something that I have run across rather frequently, it is not fun getting picked up by it.

If I were Betsy I'd be scared stiff by the shot gun, unless I was seriously mad at someone, and then I would probably be totally oblivious to anything that was not my intended victim. Tell Michael the Pyro that it was pump action.

Yes, Carol Danvers, the person that Rogue absorbs. And Dani's grandfather is one of the Wolverine's regular customers. He brings Dani along because he thinks that Exie would be a good influence snicker .

**Mendari:** Any more suggestions as to comic characters that should appear?

**Star-of-Chaos: **I love Macintosh, the computers, too, it's just that it is highly unlikely that Jean would eat one snickers at the mental image . You already know my woes with apples, so I will not go into that here. Scott is Jean's personal stalker according to soulstress.

**PurityBlack: **I owe you as well for Betsy's personality, then. Everyone, clap for Purity. Also, major Kudos to you for solving the mystery. Anybody you'd like to see in a cameo can be arranged. Sadly, I know the woes of the laptop only too well. Mine has a nasty habit of crashing and making me lose my stories. Luckily I have them saved on a ton of other computers, but it still is a major pain in the butt to reload all of the stuff.****

**Episodic: **Give me a few names, and see what happens. Although, I already am planning on Remy, Emma, Theresa, and the Hellions making an appearance, so you can cross those off your list (if any of them were on it).

**EmeraldKatsEye: **You have a Remy shrine—sigh, I wish I had one. Sadly, I'm too caught up in writing to make one. Can I steal yours? Betsy feels very sorry, and says that it probably won't happen again, so could you please stop sending the demons of guilt to torment me!! Direct quote, by the way. No, I won't make Johnny gay.

**Kittrazle**** Fayn:** Sin Jin won't meet Irene for a while. Rogue may take him to the bar, but bringing him home for Auntie is another story. Plu8s, Betsy's going to get into a whole lot of trouble for skipping dinner and wandering around the town alone, and you wouldn't want her to go through that alone, would you?

**Pandorassorrow: **I've had the too lazy to log in thing happen to me too. Great to see you back. John is not obsessed with Rogue. I've just been writing mainly about the times when they are together. I don't know about you, but unless I'm really bored I tend to at least think about what the person I'm hanging out with is saying. However, tell me whenever John seems to be getting too close. I have about as much romance in my soul a a turnip, and so am rather clueless when the line has been crossed. Rogue and Exie's relationship is rather complex. Basically, they are sisters, but they've only known that they were sisters for two years (Logan got around quite a bit back in the day), and so they don't really know how to deal with one another.

**Anigen: **Please say I spelled that right. Anyway, thank you very much. Everyone clap for the new reviewer.

**Steph14wales: **You shall find out all in due time.

* * *

"So, tomorrow, Kitty stalking," Betsy said as the three stopped at the lamppost that signaled it was time to go their separate ways. 

"Are y'sure this'll work?" John wanted to know, "I haven't a clue how t'stalk someone."

"You'll be fine. If you need some pointers we can ask Scott." Betsy reassured him.

John, who had needed to find Jean once or twice, snorted as Betsy smiled with evil intent. Rogue was quiet, looking at the stars. Eventually the others were, too. The night air was warm, filled with the reminder of summer, and there was that freshly mown grass smell coming from the houses that lined the street. There were even a few fireflies out, lighting up the darkness in one final wish that the lazy season of summer would never end.

"Yah know," Marie said after a few minutes of appreciative silence. "This is nahce. Ah can almost forget that there's school tomorrow. Or that we've got that humongous test in History."

"Talk about a mood shatterer." Betsy said, suddenly remembering the fact that she was had probably missed dinner, and was going to receive a tongue lashing from MacTaggart.

Marie shrugged, "Ah guess Ah'd better go. See y'all tomorrow, near Kitty's locker, rahght?"

"Sure, it's C235. See you there before homeroom, luv." Betsy answered, before she and John departed, walking down the right hand boulevard.

Marie waved them good night, even though she was pretty certain that they couldn't see her. Then she turned around and headed left, toward her home. The street was quiet, mostly everyone was relaxing after dinner, or in the middle of that meal.

Occasionally Marie could see what was going on through the brightly lit windows. Families would be gathered around the TV set, watching a movie, or The Game, or the news. Others might have the father reading the news paper as the children did their homework, and Mom balancing the check books. All in all, the few glimpses inspired Norman Rockwell like images.

Marie took a right and walked down the next block. This one could be characterized by the lack of front yards, and the identical "houses" that lined the streets with geometric precision. Marie looked at the condos that lined the street and wondered if the person who wrote "The Stepford Wives" had ever lived in a condo.

After the endless stream of conformity ceased Marie was nearing the downtown of Bayville. Small shops appeared, and several cars roared past. Apartment buildings began to show themselves, rising like concrete and glass giants from the side of the road. Marie nodded or waved to the few doormen she knew, and turned off into a side street where homey brown stone houses lined the streets.

Even though there was no front yard, and the only trees were sickly twiggy things that had been planted in the side walk, Marie felt a wonderful sense of safety and home coming. She went to number thirteen, and used her house key to open the door. Inside it was dark, but that was only to be expected. Irene did not believe in waste, and leaving lights burning for someone who didn't need lights was a waste.

Feeling along the wall Marie flipped the switch and the front hall was bathed in warm yellow light. Pictures lined the walls, some Marie had taken for her photo class last year, but most were ones that Irene's friends had given her. Irene collected photos, and always demanded that if Marie was going to go anywhere new she would take pictures.

At first, when the girl had been younger, she had tried to describe what was in the photos. Irene didn't say anything, but once Marie stopped trying to tell her what was in them the blind lady smiled at her, and gave Marie one of her rare compliments. Marie still didn't understand why, but Irene did not like it when people tried to help her out because she was blind.

Moving from the warm hallway to the living room, the warm spicy smell of jambalaya assailed Marie from the kitchen. She could hear Irene clattering around, it sounded like she was moving dishes to the table. Faint strains of Mindy Smith floated in the background. Irene never turned music up as it would interfere with her ability to tell what was going on around her, but she did like having music to add atmosphere.

Marie waited until she was certain that Irene had put the plates down, and then she knocked loudly on the wall before saying, "Irene, Ah'm back. Should Ah set the table?"

Irene entered the living room from the kitchen, her cane carefully sweeping in front of her, even though she knew the layout of the house by heart. Her short brown hair only showed a hint of grey, and her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses.

"Don't bother with the table, I just finished setting it. How was your day?"

"Ehh, same old, same old. School was a drag, and mah homework has mountaineers trahin' tah scale it, but other then that Ah can't complain." Marie said, walking towards the kitchen.

"You'll be starting on that after dinner I assume." Irene's voice held a note of warning in it.

"Of course. Yah know, there's people standin' outside the house salivatin' 'cause yah jambalaya smells so good."

Marie hurried to the table and sat down looking at her bowl with anticipation, as Irene made her slow way around.

"Somehow, I doubt that," the blind woman said dryly, "How's your English project going?"

"Fahne, there's a few cases of artistic difference, but other 'n that, it's workin' out."

"If only your teacher could teach you not to end sentences with prepositions," Irene sighed, "Or get you to stop talking like a Mississippi river rat. It's working, by the way." Irene stressed the 'ing.'

Marie laughed, as her guardian sat down. They spent the rest of dinner eating and throwing quips across the table about burning mouths, the amount of spice needed for proper jambalaya, and how bad each other's cooking was. At the end of supper, Irene turned the talk to the goings on at the Wolverine. Marie reported the out come of the Creed-Danvers pool games dutifully, as Irene listed them on her score sheet. As usual, when one factored in all of the past debts and money that they owed each other from previous games, the total came out to nil.

"I sometimes wonder if they rig those games so that the out come always ends up being equal on both sides," Irene mused.

"Yah nevah know," Marie added sagely, "Although yah mahght want tah get out yah Cassidy-Cassidy tally. They're back in town again."

Irene winced sympathetically, "Which one started it this time?"

"Ah got out b'fore they began a drunken brawl. But from the way they were talkin' Ah'd say Tom's goin' tah be the one. His back looks pretty far up against the wall."

Irene shook her head, "Poor Sean, if it wasn't for that horrible drinking spree after Maeve died--,"

"Ah come down on Tom's side," Marie disagreed, "He's raise Theresa, an' Sean didn't. That makes him her father, not Sean."

"But Sean is her biological father. Blood is thicker than water." Irene countered.

"No it isn't. Ah love yah lahke a mother, an' yah ain't mahne. Yah ten times the woman she is!" Marie realized that she almost yelled the last statement, and returned her voice to a normal level. "Sorry, Ah got homework tah do."

She walked out of the kitchen, and up to her room.

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration. 

OK, I await your reviews, and next Saturday you shall see another update, Betsy's and John's reception at the Institute.

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. Constructive critiques are better, but flames work for me if you are a good flamer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.


	18. Chapter 18: Coming Home pt 2

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear readers:**

If there are any comic characters that you are just dieing to see, tell me. Chances are I'll put them in, even if I don't like them that much (cough, Sinistermustdie, cough).

Like I have mentioned before I owe certain people reviews, and I am even making a list of people I must review before the week is up. To those people, Mendari, Soulstress, SweetRevenge151, Star-of-Chaos, Illusen, Crimson Lipstick, Ocean Clone, The Scribe3, Episodic, Epona04, and SilentStream, I am REALLY, REALLY SORRY! Everyone who reads this should know that all of the great writers really deserve reviews. Do me a favor, look one of them up on search, check out on of their stories, and drop them a line or two instead of reviewing this chapter.

By the way, this chapter is part two of a bigger chapter. I only split it up because the point of view changes around. Part Three will be a special Monday post.

**To my dear reviewers:**

**Soulstress: **I've only left little hints about how much Roguey knows about mommy dearest. Let's just say that it is one of the bigger story arcs that I'm going to be doing. Your birthday cake, or a friends? Either way Happy yayness to you or them. Thank you, many people enjoyed the Irene and Rogue trying to live with each other thing.

**Star-of-Chaos: **I am an Irene fan as well, but I've already ranted about Evo's lack of inspiration when it came to her.

**PurityBlack: **Oh, is honored to have made the faves list. Wow. Wow. Is in awe. Thank you very much for the compliments, want some kudos?

**Episodic: **Sage and Bishop, I can do. Very easily actually, but you'll have to wait a while. Mysique rearing will happen, we just have to wait for them to start writing the right chapter Speed'n'Spykecough . Gen X, I already had some ideas on, glad you want to see 'em. New Muties are coming as soon as "growing pains" appears. Vargas might be more than a little hard, as this author has an incredible wish to see him hit by a bus, but I'll try. Mastermind and Mesmero are planned in. Juggy, too. Omega Red I'm not too sure about, but I think that I can fit him in during a bar scene. I will find a way to explain Cable, and I shall write him in, it just might take a while!

**Melphis: **Yikes, poor you. Too bad this chapter is mainly insane fluffness, but maybe 'twill make you feel better.

* * *

"Ahhrrg!" Betsy wiped dirty water out of her eyes. "St. John Allerdyce if you jump in that puddle again I will take your face and rub it in the same puddle! Then I will get Dr. MacTaggart on the case!" 

John stopped bouncing up and down in the large pool of water at the mention of the formidable woman.

"You wouldn't really do that, would y'?" He asked, nervous.

"Oh yes I would!" Betsy told him as she tried to wring out her hair.

They continued to walk along under the lamp lit streets, each thinking their own thoughts. Of course, John's thoughts were currently centered on all of the ways he could drive Betsy crazy without her killing him. It was not a long list. Throwing grass clippings at her had nearly gotten him killed. Tapping her on the shoulder had nearly gotten him killed. Constantly asking if they were there yet had nearly gotten him killed. Jumping in puddles had nearly gotten him killed. He was beginning to wonder if there was a pattern.

Betsy was wondering if John was naturally insane, or if hanging around with Kurt had pushed him around the bend. He seemed to be happy all the time, and that bugged her. People should not be permanently set on happy-bouncy-joy-joy in her opinion. Also, Betsy could still feel grass clipping still clinging to the back of her shirt, and that was not helping her temper at all.

"Soooo," John began after a minute of silence, "what's really with Kitty? You said she was beat up. How beat up? Bloody nose beat up, or pinched a bit and told never to do it again beat up?"

"Well," Betsy told him, after thinking a bit, "she had a ton of dirt on her face, and a few scratches on her cheek. The only really suspicious thing is that she has a tiny bruise along her jaw, but it's on the side of her face that doesn't have any dirt on it."

"Hmm, sounds like she was just pushed around, and then pushed into the ground. It'd fit with her story about her the ground attacked me story." John mused, a ballpoint pen tapping his chin as he thought.

Betsy looked at him strangely, "How'd you know that?"

"Because I do." John looked at Betsy as if she had grown two heads. "How d'you know that the grass is green? 'Cause that's how y'see it, right?"

"Okay," Betsy shrugged, still a little worried by her house mate's behavior, but she figured that it was just part of his insanity.

As if to prove her point John ran up to a lamp post grabbed a hold of the thin metal bar with one hand and began to swing around it. Betsy was fine with this form of "Johnny's gone bonkers" until he tried to pull her along in his mad trip around the world.

"Hey, get off! John, I'm warning you! Yahhh!" Betsy cried as John did indeed let go of her.

The reason she screamed was that John was on his fifth revolution around the lamppost and Betsy went flying into a pile of freshly raked fallen leaves and mown grass. She got up spitting dead plants and with a glint in her eye that did not bode well for John, once she caught him. Luckily for the Aussie he was already running by the time Betsy managed to get her sights on him.

There was high speed chase through two boulevards, along one avenue, and it ducked into a private driveway for a while to throw the purple haired homicidal maniac off the sent. It eventually ended at the Institute gates with John frantically trying to type in the password and get up to his bedroom where he could hide behind the desk.

The gate began to open just as Betsy caught up with John.

"You little Aussie freak I'm going to ram you face in to the nearest wall! When I get done with you there won't be anything more than a smear on the—uh—carpet?" Besty looked around at Dr. Moira MacTaggart, Professor Xavier, and Scott.

She removed her hands from John's neck, and the poor Australian stopped gasping for breath and tried to straighten up and look more presentable. This only made the situation even more ridiculous to Dr. MacTaggart, as John was about a foot and a half taller than Betsy, and the image of the much shorter girl trying to kill the gangly boy made her want to laugh. However, she managed to keep her stern, teacher-y professional face on as she looked at the two students.

"An' jus' where have yea been all nit?" She asked, in her best Scottish accent.

"At The Wolverine," John told her truthfully, as Betsy just put her hand over her eyes.

Suddenly the situation lost most of it's hilarity in Moira's eyes. "Yea were at WHERE?"

"Relax Moira," the professor said in his calm voice, "I know Logan, he wouldn't allow anything illegal to happen. Also, I believe that Mr. Allerdyce is working with the proprietor's daughter, and that Miss Alder is a good friend of Miss Braddock. However, next time it would be nicer if you could announce your absence Miss Braddock." Xavier told her as Betsy hung her head.

"However," he continued, "As you were out without permission, nor a valid reason, according to Jean, I think that it would be for the best if you were restricted to the Institute for the rest of the week. As for you Mr. Allerdyce," the professor turned to John who was trying to make himself small and insignificant, even though he was the tallest person there, except for Scott, "Obviously I must assume that Miss Braddock had a reason for trying to strangle you in front of the gates, so you shall also enjoy restriction for the rest of the week."

Moira nodded emphatically, she turned around to wheel Professor Xavier back to the house. Scott was still looking dumbstruck at both John and Betsy. They looked back at him in a do you want to say something type of way. Finally Scott broke the silence.

"What just happened?"

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration. 

OK, I await your reviews, and tomorrow you shall see another update, Jean actually being smart (yes, I know that this is a rather hard oxy-moron to swallow, just bear with me).

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. Constructive critiques are better, but flames work for me if you are a good flamer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.


	19. Chapter 19: Coming Home pt 3

Title: Year of (ex)Change-- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear readers:**

If there are any comic characters that you are just dieing to see, tell me. Chances are I'll put them in, even if I don't like them that much (cough, Sinistermustdie, cough).

**Like I have mentioned before I owe certain people reviews, and I am even making a list of people I must review before the week is up. To those people, Mendari, Soulstress, SweetRevenge151, Star-of-Chaos, Illusen, Crimson Lipstick, Ocean Clone, The Scribe3, Episodic, Epona04, and SilentStream, I am REALLY, REALLY SORRY! Everyone who reads this should know that all of the great writers really deserve reviews. Do me a favor, look one of them up on search, check out on of their stories, and drop them a line or two instead of reviewing this chapter.**

Last part of the Coming Home chappie. Mainly foreshadowing, about what will happen in the next chapter. Sorry that this is coming out Wednesday, instead of Monday. I typed it up on Sunday, and then before I was going to post on Monday I read it over and it was nothing but Jean bashing, so I spent most of Tuesday afternoon fixing it up. I really hope that this hasn't inconvenienced anyone, like they lost power 'cause of hurricane Ivan before they could read this.

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**To my dear reviewers:**

**Soulstress**Well, err, happy b-day to your sis, then (the people in your school system sound-- interesting). Jean is an over achiever. Most definitely. More insanity, got it. I am sort of thinking about using John to drive certain members of society mad. Raven, Jean, Lance, Remy-- erm, you didn't read that, Exie, the list goes on and on.

**Star-of-Chaos: **It's possible ::) not saying anything, though. Rahne hates it when I take away from her stash.

**PurityBlack**Well, you have a lot more control than I do. If I didn't feel like going along with insanity at that moment John would be groping around for his teeth in about two minutes. Jean reacting to an adult Betsy-- hmm, that would be interesting.

**Episodic: **You're insane, too? Goody, you can join the club that epona and I started for escapees from mental institutions. I already have an idea for Cable insert diabolical laughter of choice here.

**Melphis**Uhhg, late update, again! Grr. I don't like school, it messes up all of my plans.

**Bobtheheadlesschicken**Wonderful pen name. Read the response to soulstress if you want any hints as to the sexy Cajun's whereabouts.

**Hana**** the Wreck: **Oooooooooooooooh does bug eyes all four of those boxes? Is feeling really, really honored now. A regular reviewer? Feels super honored. Only talks about self in the third person when self feels honored nods knowledgably . AU's are like a box of chocolates, you get nougat often as not, so I don't blame you about shying away from them in general.

Thank you for the astute observation. Water color of the X-Men's real selves, hm? I love that quote writes it down in the notebook of awesome possum quotes . I don't mind suggestions from the readers. It helps keep my writing fresh, and the plot interesting, I think.

**Kitrazzle**** Fayn: **(Just what is your pen name from, anyway?) Parental related purgatory? Damn those parents. Long live bad puns! Confusing Scott is fun. It should happen more often.****

**SilentStream**Yes, Marie will have to come over to the Institute to work on the project. Now isn't that a coincidence?

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Jean had felt a surge of annoyance when Betsy had run away from the situation and the responsibility that afternoon. Jean was not perfect, and she knew it; however she did try to make up for her short comings. She knew that she had an awful temper, so she hid it carefully in the name of kindness and a nice smile. Jean was not smart. She knew that. After all, she did share the same house as many other geniuses, and knew them for what they were. She was not one of them. However, she did do something that most of them didn't, mainly because they didn't have to, she _applied_ herself. This generally made up for her lack of natural intelligence. 

So, when Betsy had left the room in a hurry, Jean was annoyed, but she quickly shoved that emotion under the carpet. She wanted to yell at the Goth for not being there where Kitty needed her, but yelling was not the answer, and probably Betsy would only get in the way, anyway. So, Jean grit her teeth, and reminded herself that yelling at a person who wasn't there would be counter-productive.

Instead she turned her attention to the more productive task of getting Kitty cleaned up, and not-so-incidentally grilling her about what had happened. The story involving an aggressive piece of ground did not sit any better with Jean than it did with Betsy, and Jean heard more things over the course of the day than Betsy did. The soccer star had an idea about what might have happened, and so now the inquisition must begin.

Of course, while Jean was not genius material, she wasn't stupid, either. Well, she wasn't precisely stupid. She might not know Puff Daddy from Eminem1, but she was fairly good at knowing when someone was lying to her, when stories did not mesh with one another, and most importantly, she knew that Kitty wasn't going to spill the beans to her. While they may live in the same house, most of the Academy students were barely on nodding terms with each other.

So, Jean knew better than to grill Kitty directly. She resorted to an indirect means. It was the popular girls' secret weapon. Jean started "chatting" with the preppy sophomore. The red head was very adept at the fine art of interrogation via chatting.

"Ooh, I think there's a piece of gravel in that scratch, hold still. Yike, what did you trip over that made you hit the ground so hard?"

"Uh, like, my feet," Kitty blushed as she rolled her eyes, "I was running in the totally vain hope that I could catch a ride back to the Academy before Scott, like, did his total Pietro impression and took off. Maybe Mr. Russovitch is right. I am hopeless at co-ordination. I managed not only to hit the ground at fifty miles an hour, but I still missed getting a ride."

Jean shivered at the mention of the rabid gym teacher. She felt very glad that her gym teacher was Mr. McCoy.

"I know what trying to bum a ride off a guy can be like," Jean rolled her eyes in sympathy, "Duncan almost never waits for me, and my last class of the day is Spanish. I have to run from one end of the school to the other to catch my ride."

"Uhhg, I feel for you. I have computer apps. last. Lucky for me it's right by the entrance, but about fifty of my friends are in that class, so I never get out until, like, after last bell." Kitty pushed her hair out of her eyes.

"Computer apps, huh? That's the one your friend Doug's from, right?" Jean asked, picking up the tube of antiseptic from the bed.

"Yeah," Kitty grinned, "He's such a nice guy. I keep on trying to hook him up with my friends, but it never lasts. He's gotten totally obsessed with an e-mail pen-pal. She lives in Scotland, apparently. The way he talks about her you would think she had just come out of class with him."

"So that's what he was going on about," Jean laughed nicely, "We have gym together, and he was just going on and on about this girl who actually got his Dungeons and Dragons jokes and wasn't you."

"Even I don't get all of his weird RP world jokes. That does sound like her alright. Of course, anyone with the screen name Wolfsbane-Werewolf-Lass has got to have a few eccentricities."

"What's Doug's screen name?" Jean asked in a Do-I-even-want-to-know? tone of voice.

"CypherWorlock42, the only part I get is the 42, and that's only because of the book that Kurt forced down my throat. He seems to sic it anybody who walks onto the Academy grounds." Kitty laughed, feeling more at ease now that the subject was off gym, arguably her worst subject, and that wasn't just because she had the athletic ability of a tomato.

"I know, Riley caught me reading it one day, I was the biggest dork in the universe for three days straight after that." Jean said, keeping careful track of the emotions on Kitty's face. "She and Amy wouldn't shut up about it. Sometimes I wonder why they even hang around with us when they always seem to be trying to catch the soccer players at everything."

"Yeah," Kitty rolled her eyes, "I totally never want to get caught in all that backstabbing. How do you stand it?"

"I wouldn't call it back stabbing." Jean said, a little hurt by that unkind assumption, "Some people just want to be popular so badly they become a little too gossipy. I feel sorry for them."

Kitty was really glad that Jean couldn't read thoughts as hers were not what anybody outside her head should hear. _Somebody woke up with the rose tinted glasses on too tight today. Yeesh, there is such a thing as being too kind. She actually believes in all that drivel she spouts? _However she didn't enlighten Jean about the thoughts she was having.

The two girls chatted some more, but Jean had found out all she needed within the first half hour. Plus, the conversation was getting awkward. Kitty soon discovered that she had about as much in common with the impossibly perfect red head as she did with that funny gothic girl John and Kurt had been discussing a few days ago. Jean put a halt to the conversation by grabbing a book that had become entangled in the covers.

"Ouch, _Annabelle Lee_? Funny, I wouldn't have pegged you for a "depress your pants off" type of reader. I read that one two years ago because a friend told me to, I couldn't get through it. I'll lend you the cliff notes, if you like. I think I still have them somewhere. That way if the teacher asks you about what is going on you can come up with a pretty good answer." Jean smiled reassuringly.

"No thanks, I want to nail this." Kitty smiled back, "Why do you have cliff notes to a book that you don't like anyway?"

"Because the friend who wanted me to read this wanted to discuss it after I had read it. I couldn't exactly tell her that I found it so depressing that I almost ripped my copy to smithereens, could I? Well, I'll see you at dinner, then."

Jean left the room, closing the door behind her. She went to the library where she had dumped her bags, and she got out her cell phone. Dialing four on speed dial got her Mr. Fujiyoka's neat clipped voice, and she asked to be put on with Taryn. Now was the time to compare notes with her best friend.

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1- Sadly, neither do I. 

Please review, I need it for inspiration.

OK, I await your reviews, and sometime next week you shall see another update (it's going to be a long chapter) where the mystery is finally solved.

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. Constructive critiques are better, but flames work for me if you are a good flamer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.


	20. Chapter 20: Homework and Sand Pits

Title: Year of (ex)Change- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear readers:**

Hi, for those of you who e-mailed me, wondering if I was dead, I AM NOT! (Celebrations ensue) The reason for the four month delay is simple, my school and computer are plotting against me. My work load has been impossibly high, and my computer stopped letting my access my e-mail, and ff.n. Finally, after trying three new browsers I discovered that someone put the address on our 'you cannot access this site' list. It doesn't explain my inability to review things, yet, but I'll figure that out, too. Investigations are continuing on this matter. As to the multitude of writers that I am following, when I finally fixed the bug with my email I discovered 87 author alerts. I will be spending the next month or seven giving review reparations to these fine people.

Warning, I was feeling very insane when I wrote this. The word slapstick best describes this chapter.

**To my dear reviewers:**

Yes, I know that I usually write to you, with funny little comments, but I deleted your reviews from my in-box some time ago, and am too lazy to go and check them on ff.n. It's been a Hellish couple of months, please forgive me.

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"Hi, Kitty," Jean said as she peeled away from a group of her friends.

Kitty looked up from her locker where she was busy storing all of her books and getting the morning's binders ready to go into her backpack. She was a little puzzled as to why Jean was bothering to talk to her, but she shrugged it off when the red head began looking at her face, and the newly healed scratch.

"Great, I'm so glad to see that there wasn't a scab. Those things are really awful. They itch forever and if you do pick at them then you have a nasty scar." Jean said happily as Kitty continued to fish around in her locker for the granola bar that was her breakfast.

"Uh, yeah," Kitty mumbled, still not quite conscious.

"Hoi! Kit-kat Bar!" the loud shout made Kitty wince, "Have you finished A.L. yet?"

"No, Betsy," Kitty replied, after deciphering the fact that A. L. probably meant Annabelle Lee, and wishing that everyone wasn't so _awake_ at the moment.

She looked around and saw Betsy with John and that weird vampire girl. John was chatting animatedly with Betsy, while the vampire looked like the sun should have been outlawed. At the moment Kitty agreed with her, and felt some of the fellow feeling shared by people who aren't awake before eleven in the morning for the brooding Goth.

Marie looked for a moment at Jean's too perky smiling face. She hit on an inspiration.

"Yah know, it could be Jean beatin' Kitty up," she whispered to Betsy and John.

The two foreigners looked at each other. They both knew that when it came to Jean, Marie had a tendency to be paranoid. This was probably just one of those times. They decided to change the subject, so that Operation: Kitty Stalking, as John was calling it, could begin in earnest.

"Y'reading Annabelle Lee?" John asked in a bouncy happy voice.

Jean plastered her normal fake smile on her mouth, and both Rogue and Kitty shuddered at the alertness John had.

"More like force fed it, but yeah." Kitty responded in a call me back in an hour and I might be able to string two words together tone of voice.

"Oh, it's great. Poe's really good on general principles, but Annabelle Lee is one of the best things he's ever done. The eye is looking at you." John felt that now was the time to dip into random sayings with a slight relevance to the point at hand.

"Riiiiiight." Jean said skeptically to fill the silence that this statement had left.

The bell rang, breaking up the chance for more awkward conversation between the five teens. Rogue and Betsy left for their fashion design class, while John did the courteous thing, in his mind, and escorted Kitty to the French class that they shared. Jean's pre-calc class was in the same direction and so she walked with them as well. John took this as an opportunity to find more about his house mates. More to drive them insane, that is.

"So y're not a cheerleader?" John asked Jean for the fifth time.

"No, soccer and cheerleading are two different things," Jean tried to explain, once again.

She would have sworn that she had a reflexive twitch that started when ever the crazed Aussie opened his mouth. She understood why Betsy was friends with him. The purple weirdo was just as crazy, or eccentric as she put it, as he was. Not to mention that she delighted in all things inane and perverse.

A disturbing thought seized Jean. What if John and Betsy got married? Oh God, think of the children! The only way they could be possibly more of a terror to society was if John married a patricidal psychotic gothic witch.

"Excuse me, Jonathan, I think I left my text book in my locker." Jean said, and she hurried off.

Kitty giggled. "Is that your goal in life? Made people around you insane?"

"Well, I'd also like to write the great Australian novel, get pots of cash and retire somewhere nice, like Sydney, or New York. Somewhere fifty miles from any countryside, anyway." John replied.

The reached the classroom at this point which was probably a good thing for Kitty, because if she laughed at John's antics anymore she was in grave danger of choking on her granola bar. The French teacher, Mademoiselle St. Croix, saw Kitty, and immediately lassoed her to talk about the first pop quiz of the year where Kitty had been the only person in class to actually receive a passing grade.

John tried to avoid the young teacher. She was one of those people who disapproved of people who had no ambition. John did have ambition, but it was the ambition to become a great writer, which in Mademoiselle St. Croix's book was tantamount to wanting to become a garbage man. So the Aussie skulked in the doorway, hoping that the two would move so that he could get to his seat before the start-of-class bell rang.

Lance spotted John lurking in the door to of the French class and called the gangly boy over. John came happily enough, glad to be out of the way of his Wonder Woman like teacher.

"Hey," Lance muttered, "You got second block free?"

"Er, yeah, why?"

"Just meet me by the lockers on the second floor, C wing. I have a little re-decorating planned." Lance grinned to himself, but the grin was also shared by John.

"Great, be there mate." John told Lance as he saw an opening by the door and took it.

Lance saw Mademoiselle St. Croix glaring at him over Kitty's shoulder and decided to beat a hasty retreat to his Auto class.

Mr. Cassidy came in late. He hadn't shaved and the fumes of cheap whiskey mingled with the fumes of gas, spray paint and other various chemicals which were normally present in the classroom. The small group just looked at one another. Even without having had the experience of pouring the rounds of drinks they all knew what had happened. In a small town like Bayville it was hard to keep things like alcoholism and evil cousins a secret.

Lance liked Mr. Cassidy. Unlike everyone else in the school he did not have hang ups about little things like vandalism. Well, as long as the vandalism was artistic and would not hurt anything more important than someone's ego. Mr. Cassidy generally thought that most egos could use a little bruising now and then.

It also did not hurt that Mr. Cassidy was the only teacher who was giving him anything near a good grade. Lance had long since given up trying to be good at any other class. What was the point, he reasoned, of wasting time when you knew that the teachers would not care, and were out to get you anyway?

Sure, Lance was not the smartest cookie out there, but he was fairly intelligent. He knew that he could try harder, but in the long run he would have to destroy the image that the teachers had of him before they would consider changing his grades to more favorable numbers. Sadly, math was subject to people's opinions just like everything else.

So, this was the only class that Lance actually tried to pass. It was not all that hard, actually. He liked cars, he liked the teacher, and he liked pissing off Scott Summers, which happened every time a project was finished. They invariably had the best two grades in the class, but Lance had the better of the two.

Today was no different. Mr. Cassidy got around to passing out grades from a quiz on hot rod engines and Scott had a ninety nine. Lance had a ninety nine point five, with extra credit, which rounded up to a nice one hundred.

Scott glared at Lance's paper over Lance's shoulder. At least his eyebrows shot down, and his mouth turned down, so one could safely assume that he was glaring. It was amazing how easy it was to read his expression even with those dark red glasses protecting his eyes.

Lance smiled smugly and with a very innocent air asked what Scott had received. Scott scowled some more and muttered his grade. Lance magnanimously patted him on the shoulder and said that maybe he would do better next time.

It was a trick that he had learned from Pietro and Jean, oddly enough. Rub someone's nose in what you can do and it will burn them, but be nice about the fact that you won and they lost and you win again, while shoving their ego off a quiet cliff somewhere in the middle of the night.

"All reit, be quiet, ye hooligans," Mr. Cassidy muttered at the class trying not to aggravate his headache any further, "today we're goin' t'be werkin' on our re-spray jobs, so git."

He shooed the class out to the garage. Normally Mr. Cassidy was not a didactic teacher; he showed the class what to do and then expected that they did it. Talking was rarely involved in the exercise, and usually only when he needed to swear loudly as someone dropped an irreplaceable car part on his foot.

He was a calm, measured man, who liked things to stay constant, and therefore had taken a strong disliking to fickle people. This might have been one of the reasons why he had not been fired yet. Ms. Darkholme also felt that fickle people should be eradicated with extreme prejudice, and that people who shared her opinion on this topic were worth their weight in gold.

Or it might have been the fact that Sean was extremely good at looking stupid, while his mind worked away at top speed. Many who first met him wrote Mr. Cassidy off as being gullible; his students certainly thought that it was easy to pull the wool over his eyes. Of course, their marks at the end of the year usually showed them how wrong they were. Along with fickle people, Sean had no patience for insipid students. He considered them petty excuses of human beings and a waste of space and precious oxygen. He preferred the incorrigible students, as they were infinitely more interesting to attempt to mold. Plus, they reminded him of his own younger years and Mr. Cassidy was a sentimentalist at heart.

He could be extremely dogmatic about almost any subject, although his cousin Tom was his match for sheer stubborn will. Both cousins were very much alike, disliking orthodox methods of getting a point across and hating the idea of tradition when it came to family matters. As children they had made games out of disrupting the lives of the officious people in their community by playing pranks until the pompous individuals lost their inflated sense of importance and screamed at the two boys.

He remembered the way Maeve would call them both immature and inane children from her lofty position of being a year older than the pair. Those had been good times. Sean's docile mother had not known what to do with her wild son and his even wilder orphan cousin. She had felt vaguely that Tom might commit suicide if he was ever disciplined and therefore had never bothered to correct him. She had tried to indoctrinate manners into Sean, however he had argued strongly against the double standard she was setting by letting Tom run wild and loose, so the poor woman had given up on the matter, gone to bed with a headache and a large bottle of rum.

Both cousins had been extremely willful when growing up, however once they had been separated for a year both grew more mature and serious. The year of separation, instituted by the matriarch of the Cassidy family, the Grandmother, had made both boys grow up, but it also resulted in their growing apart. Tom had come back from America after the year's probation had ended. He found himself dropped back into the tedious life of the Irish family and discovered that everything, even his cousin Sean, was dull and boring in comparison to travel. Sean, who had spent the year in London with a second cousin once removed, or some other distant relation like that, discovered to his horror that his cousin Tom, whom had had looked up to, was wantonly uncontrolled and unpredictable, willing to do anything for thrills.

It seemed to deteriorate from there. Yet it was ironic that Sean was the one who had ended up as the alcoholic nearly broken shell of a man, while Tom was a gentleman with a disreputable past, a dashing countenance, and the inheritance of Cassidy Keep back in Ireland. Not to mention Theresa.

Sean's thoughts quickly skittered off that matter and continued to revolve in hung over circles about the problem of where it had all started. Some things were too painful to contemplate. His daughter headed that long list. Even wondering why he and Tom had grown apart so drastically was at little too close to home, but Sean was one of the people who would pick at scabs.

Had Tom said that the ice sculpture that called itself Emma Frost been trying to enroll Theresa in her school, again? Last night was too much of a blur. Sean wanted his daughter to be in school, but he held an instinctive dislike for the cold woman that wanted to be Theresa's headmistress. It was not as if Emma was a horrible human being- however, Sean disliked her on the grounds that she was so bloody controlled, as if she thought that showing emotion was a weakness. Plus, some of her other students gave Sean the shivers.

Also, the school was in Boston and Sean wanted to be as close to Theresa as the custody arrangement would allow. Tom had been kind enough to take an apartment in New York so that Sean could be close to Theresa when she was not off on trips with her beloved "Uncle." Sean ground his teeth loudly, and then looked about for a distraction.

He found it readily in the form of a Summers-Alvers argument. Those two could make his disagreements with Tom look like a drop of water in an ocean. This was why he had paired them together. They were the best minds of his class, and learned well from each other.

Well, in theory they should have made ideal partners. However, theory and practice were two different things. Sean felt that a little healthy competition between the two was a good thing for their psyches and egos, even if it tended to be a bad thing for the rest of the class.

"Break it up ye two! Break it up!" Sean yelled over the other sounds of the class.

"But sir, he -"

"Wants to use racing -"

"Stripes would look great on a PT -"

"The guy's on pot if he thinks that a Cruiser -"

"It would help delineate the back end -"

"Stripes will only make it show up more -"

"SHUT UP THE PAIR O' YE!" Mr. Cassidy yelled at the two students who were fighting over a can of spray paint like a pair of five year olds.

"The car is fine the way it is," Lance muttered mutinously as Scott stuck his tongue out at his 'partner.'

Just please let the bell ring, Sean prayed, thinking longingly of the whiskey bottle at the bottom of his desk, before giving his head a little shake. No, he was trying to quit. No more little reminders in the middle of the day, not even after this class. C'mon, ring you damn piece of pot metal! The teacher glared at the old-fashioned bell just as it rang.

"'Alleluia, er- Ai mean, guid idea Scott. Mebee ye an' Alvers kin werk on it after school."

Lance glared after Sean as the burly Irishman turned and stalked off to his office. If Cassidy thought that Lance would be wasting his precious time after school with Sergeant Summers and a bug ugly PT Cruiser he had another thing coming.

"So, see ya here after last bell?" Scott asked Lance, trying not to be too smug about the fact that his suggestion had been sanctioned by Mr. Cassidy.

"Whatever Summers," Lance waved his hand carelessly as he walked over to the window to pick up his back pack.

Lance slipped the can of red spray paint into his book bag without Scott seeing. Then he straightened up and slung the dark grey sack over his shoulder. It was at this moment that Lance made the mistake of looking out the window.

He saw Kitty with two girls that he vaguely remembered as Jean's friends. They were walking toward the athletic field, and the fall sun was shining at just the right angle to make Kitty's hair extra glossy and perfect in Lance's eyes. He saw Kitty turn for a moment and look presumably right at him. That was when his large and bulky backpack decided that it had enough of defying gravity with the help of his shoulder and Lance was toppled over backwards by its weight.

"Need a hand, Alvers?" Lance could tell that the choking sound emanated from the back of Scott's throat was an attempt to conceal laughter.

Lance growled and clenched his fists as he rose.

"I'm fine," he replied tersely before setting off for the C-wing lockers.

Once in the hall he managed to get caught in the rush of people and was able to forget the embarrassment of falling backward when he saw Kitty. Of course, Kitty and her friends managed to plan to come in from the outside and walk a little ahead of him. Lance's eyes were so busy following the perky brunette, who still had not shaken off the sleepiness of the morning, it seemed, that he failed to notice the bright orange whirlwind heading in his direction at high speeds. Well, he failed to notice it until John rebounded off his chest.

The Australian seemed to sail gracefully backwards through the air, miraculously not hitting anyone, until his lanky frame met the ground with a solid thump. Lance had not moved an inch.

John sat up on his elbows. He was slightly worried that whoever he had bumped into was going to tell him off for not watching where he was going. However Lance just shook his head at the Aussie and then tossed him a can of black spray paint.

"C'mon, we gotta find Todd, he's in on this, too."

John watched Lance's eyes glaze over slightly as Kitty and the two girls turned off into a sub hall that held some lockers. The writer smirked. He loved romance, it was so hilarious. He wondered if Lance was going to follow Kitty like a zombie for the rest of the day. Remembering the faces of the girl who had been talking with Kitty he hoped not. Those girls did not look like the nicest company.

The girls in question were standing in front of Kitty's locker, smirking.

"C'mon guys," Kitty pleaded, "I've got to get my gym clothes or Mr. Russovitch will skin me alive."

"Why bother Kitty-cat?" One of the girls asked in a nasal voice.

"Yeah, it's not like you have a hope of passing gym this quarter anyway," her blond companion replied. "Isn't gym the only class your calculus enhanced brain can't comprehend, Pryde?"

"Just please let me get to my locker," Kitty begged, knowing the taunting would go on for at least another five minutes, even if they did allow her access to her locker.

"Well, what do you think Riley?" The dirty blonde looked at her pure blonde sidekick.

"I say we let the girl at her locker, after all we would want to make the poor kitty cat the subject of more ridicule than her long jump." Riley laughed nastily and stepped aside.

Kitty smiled at them, trying to show that yes, she could be a great friend to them if they wanted. She missed the malicious wink that passed between the two girls framing her locker as she bent to work the combination. Kitty swung her locker open, bent down, and began to riffle through its contents looking for her freshly washed gym clothes.

Suddenly four hands placed themselves on her back and shoved. Kitty flew into her locker and the door slammed shut. The sophomore gulped worriedly as she heard Riley twiddle with the combination to make certain that Kitty could not free herself from her prison. The only consolation that Kitty had was that she was small enough to turn around in her locker and bang on the door.

However, she could only hear the click of Amy's and Riley's shoes as they walked away giggling. No one was around and she was trapped until the bell next rang. Credit would be deducted from her already miserable gym grade for having skipped class. Mr. Russovitch booked no excuses.

She sunk to the floor of her locker and tried not to cry. If she had been on the outside she could have gotten herself out easily. It was simply a trick of fractal probability to discover any combination for any locker in the school. They were incredibly simple and anyone who could go through math equations in their head at a fair clip could open these lockers.

She leaned against the door to her locker and sighed. Doug had his locker pretty close to hers; he would be able to get her out- eventually.

While this tiny drama was being enacted, Lance, John, and Todd had formed an unholy trio right outside the hall from Kitty's locker. Unfortunately for Kitty, they had not got there in time to see either Riley and her lackey shove Kitty in the locker, or hear her futile banging.

They were currently scouting the hall incase of any teacher activity in the vicinity. This hall had been chosen for the amounts of exits that it had: four different staircases, the windows, and a vandal's ever ready friend, a boy's rest room. That and the fact that it was a hallway devoted to lockers and not class rooms made it perfect for the mural that they had planned.

"It'll be an everlasting memorial to Essex's charming red stain," Lance had told the other two when explaining his plan.

The chemistry teacher had yet to discover a way to remove it, apparently. Lance wanted to make certain that he would never forget the humiliation. It was revenge. Petty, most certainly, but Lance needed this sort of outlet for the anger that he kept boiling under her skin.

The brotherhood of vandals agreed to Lance's idea for a design, and then set off down the hall, arguing quietly on whether the face should be painted first, or the diamond. Lance finally stopped, and said since it was his mural, he would decide and they would do the diamond first, build the face around it, and then redo the diamond and then add the shading.

Lance began to paint the diamond with painstaking detail when a loud thumping made him jump back in surprise. The red spray paint managed to turn in his hand and hit him full blast in the face. He glared at Todd and John; however, his cohorts were more interested in the banging.

"Yes, oh spirit from beyond the veil, we hear you and are willing to do your bidding," John said in a deep spooky voice.

"John? Is that you? It's me, Kitty!" Kitty called back from her locker.

"Who killed you? Have no fear, we will have revenge on them!"

John completely threw himself into the role, until he remember if anyone had killed Kitty then they must have done so in between French class, which had been last period, and now. That meant that the murders still might be in the school, and he wasn't about to tackle a gang of murderers with only Todd and Lance as unreliable back up.

"No one killed me, I just was- accidentally fell in my locker. Can one of you please get me out? I'll be late for class."

"Hey no problem, yo," Todd said walking up to the locker and cracking his fingers.

"Try not to make any sound," he advised Kitty as he put his ear to the locker and listened to the tumblers on the old lock to fall in place as he twiddled with it.

The locker sprang open under the talented ministrations of his fingers, and Kitty tumbled out, like a cork from a bottle. Todd sat back, his body automatically assuming a frog like crouch, and waited for the praise to come pouring in. It didn't. Instead, John and Lance fussed over Kitty and helped her to her feet. From there she made a dive for her locker and for a moment everyone thought that she had gone insane. However, she came out again, holding a bag which held her gym clothes.

Both John and Todd considered making wise cracks about either the state of the clothes, or if she would change in front of them. However, Lance was standing right behind them, and he looked like he was in the mood to pound something into the ground. The two boys wisely decided that they would not like to be the someone that was pounded.

"Thanks guys, bye."

Kitty briefly hugged Todd, which in his mind made up for the lack of praise. In John's mind it made Todd a more likely target for Lance to stomp. Lance merely seethed with jealousy. Kitty quickly let go of Todd, wishing that there was time for a long shower and lots of soap before gym, and ran off to the locker rooms. If she was lucky she might only be five minutes late.

Lance growled, and then slouched back to the lockers. After closing Kitty's with a bad tempered bang he continued with the mural. Todd juggled the remaining two paint cans, waiting for his turn, and trying not to laugh at the spray of red across Lance's face. John was more thoughtful, however. He glanced at the imprisoning locker and remembered the expression on the faces of the two girls who had been talking to Kitty.

Lance clipped him around the ear, trying to get the Aussie to pay attention.

"Hey, what's up with the head in the clouds act?" He asked when John jumped in surprise at the stinging pain.

"I was just wondering who pushed Kitty in her locker. Remember those friends of hers that she was speaking with?"

Lance looked thunder struck.

Todd, on the other hand looked as if he was trying to remember something.

"Hey, weren't those two Amy 'n' Riley?" He asked, "They hang out with Jean. Rogue complains about 'em 'cause they're in her gym class and don't know when to pass the ball, or somethin'."

Then John put two and two together. Marie had the same gym class as Kitty; that was why he hadn't been assigned to stalk her during his free block. So, that meant that Kitty had been running to a class which contained the gruesome twosome.

Lance was obviously reaching the same conclusion, although he was probably using different facts. Unlike Scott, he did not know his friend's schedules by heart. John had simply looked thoughtful and worried when he had made his connection. Lance, however, was so angry that his muscles all tensed for a moment and he stamped his foot down hard, as if he could alleviate the raw rage that way.

"We have to go help her," Todd said, putting the spray cans back.

"Guys, she's got Rogue t' watch her back, do y' really think that anything we can do t' them would be worse than when Rogue gets P.O.ed at someone?" John suggested tentatively, his accent thickening slightly due to stress. One of nature's observers, he did not want to get caught in the middle of this.

Todd looked at Lance, and decided that it would be better if it looked like they were accomplishing something, rather than let Lance spontaneously combust. He was not quite sure what was happening to his friend, but he had a suspicion that this was not because of the stupid crush that Lance had. Infatuation could only drive someone so far; this had a ring of desperation to it. Fred had said something about this. When Lance could not solve his problems he went looking for problems that he could solve. It was displacement activity, or something. Again, Todd felt in need of Fred's expert advice on this subject.

However, Fred was currently struggling through a Home Ec. class and Todd needed an answer immediately. So, he had to use the flimsy resource of his own common sense to divine the possible out comes of this situation. None of the foreseeable futures were good, so he finally decided to trust his sense of survival, which told him that getting in the middle of a possible bitch fight in the future was preferable to crossing Lance in this mood.

So, the two reluctant allies followed their fearless leader into hostile territory. Better known as Mr. Arkady Russovitch's gym class.

Mr. Russovitch had a good reason for his reputation, and Todd, who had been unfortunate enough to experience his class, was shivering from the thought of confronting the angry Russian. The man seemed to be able to only to exist in a permanent state of pure anger. He had turned being pissed off into an art form. Rage was a zen like state from which he would emerge, on occasion, like a snarling bear from its cave.

This might be why many students took a dim view of former relics of the Soviet Union, for that was what he most certainly was. The Cold War lived on in Bayville High, or at least it would if he had anything to say about it. When he was drunk he raged on about the greatness of Russia, and Stalin's vision. Of course, it was hard to tell when he was sober.

Many felt that Sean Cassidy was a better alcohol drenched sop, at least he confined his loud opinions to within the walls of _the Wolverine_. There had even been suggestions of firing the misfit. However, Ms. Darkholme, being from Austria, was a little more inclined to leniency. Also, if she fired Russovitch, she would have to fire Cassidy, and while Raven Darkholme was many things she was not stupid. Sean Cassidy was one of the only things keeping her enrollment rate up and the dropout rate low.

So, the students had to suffer on under the yoke of the violent gym teacher. They managed, just as they managed under the burden of a task master like Essex. In fact, the few smart jocks that Bayville High had loved their Russian gym teacher. He was extremely easy to manipulate into doing just what they wanted.

He was loud, and persistent, and had a special brand of stupidity that was given only to drill sergeants. He could not play a political game to save his life, but he knew how to play games on a personal level with deadly accuracy.

Of course, this generally went over the students' heads. They just knew that if they needed defense against a pending suspension, he was the man to be maneuvered into fighting the faculty. The only person who did not fear either him, or try to avoid confrontation, was Ms. Monroe. In fact, they seemed to go looking for ways to clash and woe betide any student who said good things about one in the other's hearing.

Neither the principal, Sean Cassidy, nor Nathaniel Essex were in anyway perturbed by the unbalanced individual. They simply saw him as something akin to the common cold, or a headache. A naturally occurring phenomenon, that could be avoided if one took precautions and ate plenty of vitamins. In fact, he tended to leave headaches, and stress related illnesses in his wake, so many felt that this analogy was even more appropriate.

Rogue personally felt that he was giving her a headache. It was far too early in the morning to be awake, and here he was, forcing them outside and then yelling at Kitty for having shown up a couple of minutes late. There was no decency in the world when people were forced to get up early by someone who was only to clearly awake himself. Rogue was one of those people who were not awake until lunch time.

Kitty merely stood shame-facedly and let the Russian swearing at 105 decibels wash over her. She was used to verbal abuse by now, and it was only a few weeks into the school year. Amy and Riley giggled to themselves. They had managed to stay on his good side, although, that would change soon, too.

Marie glared at them, and then groaned inwardly as the blond Soviet menace swung around to glare at the two.

"Well! What you wait for! RUN Comrades! I WILL see you throwink up, until then you will not stop runnink!" He shouted, his face turning a florid red, and the tendons standing out on his neck.

The rest of the class indulged in one last groan, and then began to run. When he gave that order it meant that they would have forty five minutes to contemplate the physics involved with their sneakers and the ground as they built up speed. Kitty chose the moment his back was turned to escape with the rest of the class.

She fell in beside her friend, Doug, and the crazy French guy that he had picked up along the way. Doug was breathing in carefully measured breaths, however, his friend, Jacques, or something like that, had a glint in his eye and it was obvious that he was someone who enjoyed 'challenges.' Several times he outpaced Kitty and Doug, who were not the fastest runners on the block, only to check himself and fall back with an enthusiasm that made Kitty shudder.

Marie caught up beside the trio, and ran easily with them. Logan forced her to become fit using week-end work out sessions that could have taught Arkady a thing or two about sadistic aerobics. Jacques chattered away in a mode that strongly reminded Marie and Kitty of John, although the Frenchman was more akin to a young colt than an adolesant kangaroo, there was still a striking similarity in their out look on life. It probably was if you talk to someone long enough about inane things then the people you are speaking with will become insane, and that is when the fun starts.

Kitty, Doug, and Marie endured the persistent annoyance in silence, trying not to encourage him. He took no notice of their vain attempts to ignore him and plowed right on, his eyes shining happily as he began to discuss explosives, and the uses of electricity in demolition. Kitty looked at Doug as Jacques rambled on happily.

"This is almost as bad as that day we were on that crazy chat group of yours and that guy started talking about popular methods of torture," Kitty panted.

"Look on the bright side, there's only thirty more minutes," Doug replied, wiping sweat from his brow.

"NO TAKING WHILE YOU ARE RUNNINK, COMRADES!"

After that last shout the nerve that they had used to talk deserted the two computer geeks, and even Jacques was quiet. Rogue was silent, too, scanning the class for Amy and Riley. The two girls seemed to have disappeared. Marie always got suspicious when two people tried to cut Arcady's class. It usually meant vandalism, which ended her up in front of Darkholme trying to explain why, although she hung with the "criminal element" of the school, she did not have anything to do with it.

About twenty-five minutes later, Marie noticed that Amy and Riley were behind them, she relaxed slightly, and became intent on keeping an even pace. She didn't notice that Kitty had dropped back slightly. In fact, neither Doug, Jacques, nor even Kitty noticed that her tired legs were lagging.

"Hey Pryde, sorry about the locker thing. We forgot that you still had our chem homework," Amy said in a conciliatory tone.

Kitty was tired. Fatigue poisons were doing their insidious work, and to top it off, she was sick and tired of having to deal with these girls. So, she made an unwise decision.

"No apologies necessary, I already gave it to Dr. Essex. With notes explaining why all of our handwriting was so similar."

They were passing the part of the track behind the bleachers, where the long jump sand pits were. Arkady couldn't see the three girls from his vantage point in the center of the field. Not that it really would have mattered. He had been known to turn a blind eye to hazing before this.

Kitty felt a sharp elbow jab into her stomach, and then she was falling out into space. Sand fountained up with a dull smack as her body hit it, and for a second Kitty was able to admire the fluffy white clouds in the piercing blue sky before Riley loomed over her. One foot was poised to kick, and Kitty felt it bite into her other side as she tried to roll away. Then she was up on the springy surface of the track again and running for her life, Amy in hot pursuit.

"GOOD SHOW COMRADE PRYDE!" Arkady boomed as she came into view, "COMRADE SMITH, TUCK YOUR ARMS IN, OR YOU'LL NEVER GAIN ENOUGH SPEED!"

As Kitty ran for all she was worth she wished that she hadn't been so stupid. Doug and Jacques were watching Kitty run, completely astonished. Rogue, on the other hand was behind the bleachers teaching Riley a lesson. Kitty was really making a good distraction.

"An' that," Marie ducked, kicking the legs out from under Riley, "is why yah don't bully mah acquaintances!"

Marie stood over Riley, threatening that one wrong move would see the popular girl in traction. Riley was looking angrily up at Marie, a bruise forming on one pale cheek to match the Rogue's bleeding lip. Then she smiled nastily, and Rogue was sent flying through the air by Amy knocking into her.

At the moment no one was seeing reason. Kitty had collapsed a few yards away completely out of breath, and Amy had just caught up to her when she saw Marie knock Riley down. They were all going to get in trouble, and Amy knew it, however, if she was going to get suspended she might as well have a lot of company. Kitty was probably not going to be saving her anymore effort on homework, or passing test answers any more. And the reason Kitty was doing this was because of this freaky Goth girl, who had a surprisingly good left hook.

Then Riley grabbed Marie's hands, pulling them behind her back, and Amy grinned wolfishly. She was going to humiliate this girl. At least that's what Amy thought, until she was close lined by Lance.

Toad hopped over to Kitty, to see if she was alright (i.e. not get involved in the rather large brawl). The now not-so-perky brunette sat up coughing.

"Todd, go to my locker, get out my chem book, and then give the papers in it to Dr. Essex. It's very important to write on the top: 'Kitty Pryde wrote these for Amy Smith, and Riley Westcastle.' Can you do it, please?"

Todd was only too happy to be sent off on an errand that would take him out of harm's way, so he ran to do Kitty's bidding. Kitty, in the mean time turned to see a rolling ball in the sand pit and Johnny hovering anxiously nearby, asking them if they really wanted to get suspended.

"COMRADES!"

The familiar bellow froze everyone, as Mr. Russovitch bore down on the perpetrators like an angry colossus. He reached down, and pulled the teens apart, Dangling Lance and Riley in the air, one from each fist, like puppets on a string.

"Frau Darkholme will haf somethink to say to all of you, I think."

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration.

OK, I know it was a semi-cliffhanger, but I wanted to reassure all of you that I was still alive as soon as I could, and I'd like to hear your opinions on what should happen to our teen delinquents. I'm probably going to do what I want, anyway, but as it was said 'good writers borrow from other writers, and great ones steal from them outright.' If it makes you feel that what you are doing is significant, then I have accomplished something.

I'm going to try to get back to regular updates again, and finish Worried about Her, and finish typing Pyro's Romy. If there's anything else that I forgot, I'll let you know.

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. Constructive critiques are better, but flames work for me if you are a good flamer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.


	21. Chapter 21: End of the Impulse

Title: Year of (ex)Change- also entitled: Stupid School Project by The Rogue and John Allerdyce

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution or the X-Men concept. I do own this story, but I am not making any money off of it. I also own this disclaimer, and I praise it for keeping the evil lawyers away.

**To my dear readers:**

Obviously, I was having a lot of fun with Essex's character through out this wrap-up chapter, and I hope that you enjoy.

**To my dear reviewers:**

**Purity Black: (warning this response contains spoilers!) **I'm a Lancitty fan, too. Since it's obvious that I'm basically going to be paralleling between Evo episodes and what's going on in this story Lancitty will crop up again. Just wait until after midterms, as Rogue and John have to hand in the first half of their project then (cough the first season cough). As for family friction, wait until the "Shadowed Past" chapters. What I put in now is just foreshadowing. With the editing errors, good job finding that. Arkady also didn't want the students taking as they ran instead of talking. This is what happens when you self edit. You know what words are supposed to go there, and so you automatically see them.

**Goldylokz**That was just cruel irony, and my love for Jonda insanity coming through, not foreshadowing. Wanda's character won't be showing up until the last story arch. As for the movie, I hope you're right. I pray that you're right. I fear it'll just be another Two Towers/ Prisoner of Azkaban fiasco. Too much Hollywood glitter and fangirl-hearthrobs-who-should-be-pushed-off-a-cliff-somewhere-in-the-middle-of-the-night-or-beaten-to-death-with-a-stick on screen, and not enough of the original wonder that was the book. Sigh. You have reached 42, and it's not as sparkly as you thought.

**Kitrazzle**** Fayn: **As always I worry for your sanity, dearie. How much sugar did you take before writing that review? Not that it matters. Your effervescent welcome back to the land of fanfic leaves me warm and fuzzy inside. My only question is whether fantabulous is even a word. Enjoy chasing tiger tails.

**Episodic: **Notorious jewel thief sounds fun, but it probably requires too much work, where as fan fiction requires none. I don't even have to make up the characters. As for the insight into Banshee - well, to tell the truth, my English teacher assigns us vocab words to write sentences about. I happened to get one of those assignments as I was writing that section, so I incorporated all of my vocab words in there. I usually do that. I actually saw Phantom of the Opera (the newest version) recently with my friends. Wow. That was absolutely amazing. I think the best parts were the absolute chaos that it is behind the scenes. You can get a sense of it from the book Masquerade by Terry Pratchett but seeing it on the screen like that is incredible. How those people live without a heart attack every five seconds I don't know.

**Flit: **Great to see that you've joined the party. You got them all correct, and the only people you missed were Scott and Lance, but they were passing references, only. I look forward to hearing from you as soon as you make it to the later chapters. Thanks for filling in the quiz. I love meeting new reveiwers.

* * *

It was dark in the auditorium, and Kitty was glad. Darkness was a good cover. She felt so very alone, even though just a few minutes before two people had been fighting on her behalf, and they were probably being grilled by Darkholme even as she sat on the dark stage and knocked her heels against the parapet-like edge. She had managed to change back into her regular clothes, and get away from the gym class in the ensuing confusion the fight had caused. There were only five more minutes of good wallow time before the bell rang, anyway.

Kitty looked out at the vague, dark, humped shapes that were the chairs, and sighed. She felt, for some reason, that she had deserted Lance and Betsy's vampiric friend in their hour of need. Not that she would have been much help facing the formidable Miss Darkholme. Chances were, she would get so nervous about what this might do to her GPA that she would have lock jaw before the Principal could set into her.

Kitty was a good girl, and the only time she had ever been to the principal's office was when she had accidentally hacked into the files where the science department kept the answers for the department wide mid-terms. That had been explained away with ease, and the matter was dropped, although Dr. Essex had been out for her blood ever since.

All the same, while Kitty was glad of the reprieve, she couldn't help feeling guilty, as her imagination supplied her with the mental imagery of the principal turning into a large purple monster and tearing Lance and the Goth girl up for supper. She wished that she hadn't caused all of this trouble. If she could sink into the floor and disappear, she would have done that.

"Hey, Kitty is that you?" Jean's familiar voice filtered out of the darkness.

"No," Kitty replied bitterly.

Jean was friends with Amy and Riley, and had probably come to tell her not to get them in trouble.

"If you're here to tell me not to give those research papers to Dr. Essex, you're too late. He's probably in Miss Darkholme's office right now, trying to get those evil friends of yours expelled," Kitty added, just to make it clear to Jean that she, Kitty, was not going to be any one's lapdog anymore.

"Research papers?" Jean sounded almost sincerely confused. "What friends? Kitty, could you please start at the beginning?"

"Yeah, 'm a little confused m'self," an Australian ascent added from, behind Jean's now barely visible figure.

From the yelp Jean gave she was as surprised as Kitty, who had started violently.

"Is there anybody else here?" Jean called out in annoyance, "Betsy? Kurt? Scott?"

"Nope, just me," John replied cheerfully.

There was a click, and the stage lights flared. Kitty put a hand over her eyes to ward off the sudden brightness. Jean blinked rapidly, and they both looked at John's grinning face with irritation. He was standing by the light switch, ignoring the withering glances.

"So, y'sheilas aren't going to tell me what's going on, I can I guess?"

* * *

The Principle's office was a warm creamy white, with a rich blue and green carpet, as well as a warm mahogany desk. This was, Lance supposed, to counteract the chill aura of the principal herself.

Once Miss Darkholme saw that all of the students were seated she steepled her fingers and glared over the tops of them. Lance saw this look often enough to know that it meant that the principal's only problem lay in the fact that she wasn't certain what punishment to inflict on the erroneous teens. The look she was giving them chilled his blood, and made Lance think of snipers, dark alleys, secret assassinations, and guns.

"Alright, explain," Raven Darkholme's cold words lashed out in the silence like a whip.

Silence followed this command. The only person in the room not completely cowed was Rogue, who glared mutinously back at the angry woman. Lance privately thought that his friend had gone insane. Then they all started talking at once.

"QUIET!" The principal yelled after two minutes. "Since it is just your words against each other, with no impartial witnesses for either side, let's see what your transcripts say in your defense, instead."

Lance groaned inwardly as she brought forth the four files. The silence of the four teens was absolute, although Amy and Riley were wearing smug grins when they glanced at Lance. He was a known trouble maker, and they had managed to keep their noses clean. Miss Darkholme read through the files, taking her time, making an occasional tutting noise. Many of these interruptions of the silence occurred as she read through the file marked Alvers, Lance.

* * *

"And I can't help feeling like I've done something wrong," Kitty finished.

As before, she discovered that Jean's secret weapon of chatting had her spilling secrets she wouldn't have told anyone else. She had quite forgotten that John was sitting in the auditorium. In fact, it looked as if John had forgotten that he was sitting in the auditorium with them. His notebook was out, and a pencil eraser was tapping against his teeth. He was looking vacantly at the ceiling the same way someone does when they have two pieces of information and are trying to make the vital connection. It was obviously adroitly evading the Aussie.

"Kitty, it's not your fault. You obviously just were caught in a bad place at a bad time. Amy and Riley can be pretty nasty when they set their minds to it. Now stop thinking that you're cursed. When we go home today you can tell Professor Xavier all about it, and he'll be able to help."

"I have a feeling that I should probably talk to Lance. Maybe I should apologize to him and Betsy's broody friend for getting them mixed up in this ," Kitty trailed off, looking even more guilty.

"Listen, don't bother to go to them. If you think you're cursed, let me tell you, Lance has the bad luck vibe worse than you do. After all, he has Marie and that smarmy Pietro as friends," Jean told Kitty, trying to get her to smile, a little.

Kitty didn't mean to, but the way Jean had descried Pietro was too funny. Smarmy had onomatopoeia. Kitty giggled as the bell rang. Jean gave her a hand up from the stage, and they left, John bringing up the rear. The orange haired boy glared at the note book, where he had written the entire conversation down, word for word. He had a feeling that this was all important, but he just could not pin point how it was important.

* * *

"Well, I believe that it can be safe to say that you girls are all going to be failing physical education. This little debacle will not look good on your - Miss Alder, stop rolling your eyes- college transcripts. As for you, Mr. Alvers, as this is the seventh fight this month, I believe a seven day suspension is in order - not that the Jim-Bob School of Trucking will really care that you can't even attain a GPA over negative two. As for you three - that means you too, Miss Alder," Principal Darkholme glared at the Goth, who had cast her eyes ceilingwards, again.

Rogue's eyes moved back down to glare at Miss Darkholme as the door burst open.

"Essex, this had better be phenomenal to come in without knocking," Raven Darkholme growled.

The chemistry teacher strode into the room, casting a disdainful glare at Amy and Riley. He held a group of papers in his white hand, and his face had almost no trace of his normal dark good humor. It did have quite a lot of trace of the diamond stain on his forehead, though. Dr. Essex was the kind of person who paled when he got angry, and since he was practically chalk white to begin with, the effect of the florid red diamond was sinister indeed.

"It is. I have just caught two students who were cheating in my class. In my class!" he seemed beside himself with anger, and his white lab coat rippled threateningly in the breeze from the open window.

"You have two of the culprits here, I see. Now call the office and have Miss Pryde sent up here. I want to see those three expelled!"

"I am the Principal here, not you, Essex," Raven Darkholme stood up to her full height.

Even though Essex topped her by nearly four inches, her mahogany desk, and the copper nameplate, commanded authority and respect he dared not counter.

"You have not even shown me evidence of why I should expel these three, although Miss Smith and Miss Westcastle have highly recommended themselves to that action today."

"You want proof? Here is your proof! The papers Miss Pryde wrote for them, due for tomorrow's class!" Dr. Essex handed them over with an angry jab.

Principal Darkholme took them calmly, read them over, including Todd's scrawl on the top margin of the papers.

"Miss Smith, Miss Westcastle, you are free to go to your lockers and pack your things. Tonight I will be calling your parents informing them of your indefinite suspension, and tomorrow you will receive the proper forms in the mail, along with a note telling you when you may come in front of the school board to state your case. On your way past the office, do not forget to have the secretary call Miss Pryde up here. Now leave," Miss Darkholme turned to Dr. Essex, "This seems like a case of blackmail and bullying. I see no point in reprimanding Katherine. I will simply remind her of the options that she has should this situation ever occur again, and then contact both her parents and Xavier. Now that everything has been taken care of, from your perspective Dr. Essex, you may leave, too."

The good doctor turned and strode out of the office in a swirl of lab coat, and in the fine tradition of the dramatic exit. Amy and Riley tried to follow suit, but it was rather lost on them and all they managed to do was look as if they were constipated.

Principal Darkholme turned back to the two remaining delinquents.

"This actually changes the situation, Mr. Alvers. However, if you ever again encounter a situation like this, tell an adult instead of taking matters into your own hands. Some advice to you: if you do not act like an avalanche about to come down on a couple of skiers you will not have to defend your fearsome reputation. It only ends up giving you more trouble. You are free to go. Miss Alder, on the other hand, is not."

The Principal waited until she was certain that Lance had closed the door before turning to the rebellious Rogue.

"Marie, I thought that Irene was teaching you to respect people more ," Raven began.

"Ah respect those who deserve respect, Miss Darkholme," Rogue replied in her best icily polite Southern manner. "If mah conduct has not been tah yah likin' then yah have every right tah upraid me. Unless, o' course, yah've done somethin' which doesn't warrant respect."

"Marie,"

"Yes," Rogue asked, for the sake of showing how superior she was when Raven did not end her sentence.

"Go to your class. The secretary will give you a note. I will call your guardian, the same as Riley, and Amy. Perhaps Irene will make you see reason."

Rogue strode out, using the same amount of dramatic flair as Dr. Essex, and leaving Raven Darkholme alone in the office.

* * *

Please review, I need it for inspiration.

Hello my fandom, there's going to be one more wrap up chapter, the institute's angle on all of this, and then we'll be getting into the next chapter of the epic novel that Marie and John are writing.

I'm trying to get back to regular updates again, and finish Worried about Her, and finish typing Pyro's Romy. If there's anything else that I forgot, I'll let you know.

Tell me how you liked it, or hated it. I encourage flames, as they make me a better writer. Constructive critiques are better, but flames work for me if you are a good flamer. But that doesn't mean I don't love it when you say that you liked it. I cherish the warm fuzzies that I get when I see my mailbox crammed with review alerts.


	22. Chapter 22: Begin a New Chapter

**Author's Note:** Wow, I promised once I finished posting my last story, I would start uploading chapters of this one again, and the week-end's almost over, with me having forgotten that promise. Sorry for those who knew that SSP was going to resume and have been patiently waiting. Also, surprise, after 4 years I have NOT abandoned the story. Just forgotten about it. Okay, to kick off the month of November (happy Nano-ing to us all) I present the next chapter of SSP. There will be weekly updates until I run out of written material. Hopefully that won't happen soon, but it's been more than four years since I was last writing, and for those who can do math, that should indicate that my educational schedule has gone crazy. Not only that, I'm Nano-ing this year, for realz. So I don't know how much, if any, time I will have to devote to Fanfic. Final note: going back and reading my old stuff is super painful. If I ever reach the planned end of SSP, I will most definitely be revising the first 26 chapters. The drama is unrealistic, and frankly the writing sounds like I'm a high school girl, which, as Sam Seaborn points out, is pretty awful. Not to mention, accents -- gah. They do exist in the comics, which is okay, but it's been so long since Evo aired that I'm finding them a hindrance to understanding what the characters are saying, rather than a helpful technique for immersion within the character's voice. The accents are probably going to be toned down in later chapters.

"Yah actually made notes of th' entire conversation?" Marie asked John, completely incredulous.

They were walking around the schoolyard, waiting for Kitty to finish her after school talk with Miss Darkholme. The fall air was as crisp as ever, even though clouds were massing on the eastern horizon.

John and Marie felt that something was in the air. The whole story of Amy, Riley, and Kitty had to be told some how. It was, in some indescribable way, important. Marie had rushed off several drafts for the school paper, yet everything seemed too -- strange and unreal. There was a sense of a moment in time coming to an end. Anyway, it was far too important for the school paper.

"Yeah, but I don't know what good it'll do us. The story's interesting, but it doesn't put Kitty and Lance at odds, which is what we were looking for," John pointed out sounding depressed.

"Ah think--," Rogue began, before getting cut off by John jumping up and down waving his arms.

"Hoi! Over here! We're over here!"

Kitty was the object of his frantic yelling. She had just walked out the school doors, and was standing on the steps with a far off look on her face. Of course, it didn't stay all that far off once John started screaming blue murder. She looked decidedly confused as she walked up to them.

"Er, what are you two doing here?" She asked walking up to them.

"What, can't old chums from the same school greet each other after school for a little get together?" John asked innocently.

"Er, no offense, but if anyone from the institute was going to meet me, I sorta thought that it would be Jean," Kitty replied, pointedly ignoring Rogue's muttered "Ah still think she had somthin' tah do with this."

"Well, Jean's at soccer, an' we're not, and I promised Kurt that I'd tell him what's been going on, sooooooooooooooooooooooooo, what did the ice cold bi-- I mean, principal have t' say t' you?" John asked.

"She just had me call my parents, and then gave me a couple of brochures. Then Kurt came in. I think they're having a 'were you the reason there was a fire hydrant in the middle of your homeroom' talk, again," Kitty replied.

"A fire hydrant in the middle of home room?" John asked, feeling awe for his friend.

"Again?" Marie asked in the same breath.

"Yeah, you know Kurt's reputation. If a prank's been pulled ten to one it was Kurt. Apparently someone did a mural to Essex's new head ornament. She thinks that it was Kurt. Is something wrong?" Kitty asked John, who looked as if the sky was about t fall on his head.

"Nothin' sheila, just -- cogitatin,'" John replied.

They were walking along the side walk, now, on the way to the institute. Marie was following the two members of Xavier's geek squad simply because Irene was going to Have Words with her when she got home, and Marie was not eager about hearing them. The uncomfortable silence that now descended between the three caused Rogue to feel as if it was her turn to contribute.

"So, what did yah parents have tah say about this?"

"Oh don't talk about that," Kitty rolled her eyes, "they went completely ballistic when they found out. At least, my dad did. I don't know Mom's reaction. Funny, they seem to blame you and Lance for the fight. Dad's impression of Lance couldn't be worse if Lance had tried to kill me and mom by dropping a house on the family."

"Dropping a house on the family," Rogue muttered.

The silence descended again, like a brooding cloud, until finally Kitty could not take any more of it. It was weird walking with three people and having nothing to say to them. The entire situation was weird. She saw her chance in an electronics store, and ducked inside, telling John and Marie to go on ahead.

As soon as Kitty was gone they began to talk. It seemed taboo to discuss the English project when someone was around, but once they were alone the partners felt that they were free to discuss things.

"Ah'll do the writing on this one, Ah've a pretty good idea what tah write. Yah can start on the next one. We're not goin' tah be introducin' more than one character, got it? Can't overload people," Marie informed John.

"Right," he agreed, "I'll hand over the notes I've got and then we'll pick a name from th' hat. Sound good?"

"Sure."

They were at the security gate now, and John handed over his notebook. Fishing in his backpack, John brought out a crumpled ball of names. Marie looked at him.

"Yah've been bringin' those tah school? Won't this just confirm your status as a strange foreign kid?"

"Yeah, but who cares, sheila?"

"Whatvah. Just gimme a name."

John closed his eyes and shook the crumpled ball of graying paper. One finally floated down from the pile. He snatched at it before it could land, and then read the carefully written name. His expressive face broke into a wide grin.

"Who is it?" Rogue asked, exasperated, "Did yah get Essex, or the MacTaggart woman?"

John began to chuckle with his estimation of evil malevolence, and handed the scrap of paper to Rogue. She took it, looking annoyed, and read it. Then she read it again, her expression draining away.

"No way are we doin' that. Pick someone else!"

"Sorry sheila, y'made the rules," John was already slipping through the security gate, his insane grin locked firmly in place.

Rogue threw the name to the ground, and stamped away, muttering obscenities. She was going to the Backs, and going to blow off her steam by yelling at the guys before heading home.

The whitish scrap of paper looked innocently into the clear sky, bearing the ballpoint pen inscribed legend **Marie Alder**.

* * *

So, review if you like. I hope this reboot goes well.


	23. Chapter 23: Choose Your Fights

**Author's Note:** So, I follow Aaron Williams' online comics. Mainly _PS-238_, although _Nodwick_, _Full Frontal Nerdity_, and _Backwards Compatible_ have given me their share of laughs and awesome. Recently he posted something to his blog which I think sums up the reason I no longer read comics if they aren't online, or under the control of a writer I really respect, such as Neil Gaiman.

"I'm still tossing some short story ideas at Marvel and seeing what sticks. They want them to be "evergreen" tales, ones outside of current continuity, which is kind of harder than it sounds. I've talked with a lot of other writers, and quite a few of them could give a rodent's nethers about continuity to a certain degree. M'self, I kind of dig that stuff, when a callback or an event is revisited. I see it as rewarding the reader for having been with the character for some time and it makes the previous story as well as the one I'm reading more "solid." Naturally, I'd want to avoid making the more recent tale depend on having read the previous one, but it's nice to drop in a detail or two ("Still smarting from when I dropped that whale on your death ray, villain?")." - Aaron Williams

Kinda depressing, but true. Not to mention, I can see why the editors would be trying to get away from the horrible cesspool that they dreamed up, and unfortunately implemented. If we look at the current Marvel continuity, blegh is the only reaction I can manage that doesn't involve strong language. I love fans, fan boys of all stripes, and I write fanfiction. Believe me when I say that the writing staff for the mainstream Marvel stuff writes like a horde of fan boys pushing the soda and all nighters to turn out things I wouldn't read for free on FF.N, because the summary would trigger my alarm bells on crack pairings, Mary Sues, and just plain bad writing, it's not a compliment. It's depressing when I know amateurs that can write better than the pros, and do so for free, while comic book prices keep going up. On the bright side, Japan is still turning out wonderful stories, and you get a lot more pages per volume. So, yeah, rant conducted, I now return you to your regularly scheduled fanfiction.

* * *

"What were you thinking, Rogue?" Irene asked.

Rogue sat in one of the comfy armchairs, looking awkward, not that Irene would know. "Ah sassed her, Ah know, but Ah was angry," Rogue muttered.

Irene kept her face trained on Marie's. The girl felt a blush creep up her face under the make up. "Look, yah gotta understand, there's this girl at school, an' she was gettin' beat up, and Ah tried to help, but things kinda spiraled outta control, and th' next thing Ah knew we were fightin', an' well, yeah."

Irene sighed. "Rogue, this is not how you want to start off is it? Every year is a fresh chance, and you know it."

Silence blossomed. Irene rose stiffly, and walked over to the stereo, flipping dials until Mozart was flowing through the room on soft notes. Marie curled up in the arm chair, pulling her knees to her chest. Sometimes she wondered why Irene even bothered with her. Or why Rogue even bothered. She liked black clothes, dark make-up, and being tough. She was respected because people were afraid of her.

"You have a bright future ahead of you, Little Cub," Irene commented, her voice weaving with the sonata. Rogue flinched at the childhood nickname. She'd wanted to be a fox-bear-panther growing up, and all they'd had in common was that their children were cubs. "You can mess it up, or not, but hurting the people around you isn't going to make that future any brighter. You're intelligent, and smart, and you could be doing great things with your life."

But I'm not, Rogue thought, feeling small and scared. I'm a Junior and I haven't decided what college I want to go to, and I haven't taken my SATs, and I haven't taken my ACTs, and I don't know what I want to do with my life, and the third week of school I'm already screwing up. Do I even get a second chance? What if we have to move back to Missouri?

"No more fighting, Marie," Irene's voice broke through the panic. "I mean it. No fighting. And you have to promise me something."

"What?" Green eyes managed to tare themselves from the mesh encasing her knees.

"Raven is my best friend, Marie," Irene said slowly, carefully. "I can't order her to be a better mother. I can't order you to give her a second chance. But I am going to order you to ignore how you feel about her. This has gone on for too long. You can't blame Raven for not giving you all the help that Kurt has received. She isn't going to make your life suddenly easier, and that fact is never going to change. You have to move on, and part of that means stop trying to cut your nose off to spite her. You're grounded for the next two weeks. Any friends can come over, but you will be doing school work in the kitchen. And Marie, you need to think about this, too: We can go back to Missouri. We will if you get into another fight. We will if you want it now. It's an option."

"And if I want to stay here?" Marie asked quietly, not certain if she did.

"Then we stay here," Irene replied. "I work on my novels, and NYU has offered me a place as guest lecturer in Disability Studies in the spring semester," she smiled, shaking her head, as her cane tapped nervously against the floor. "I meant to tell you the good news when you got home. I just got caught up in the call from Raven."

"Really?" Marie asked, looking amazed. She had known Irene had wanted to be a college professor at one point, but had to drop out of grad school for some reason before she could finish her PhD.

"Dream job on a platter, and my daughter nearly getting expelled all at once," Irene laughed dryly. "It's been quite a day."

She doesn't want to go back to Missouri, Rogue realized. Irene has always wanted to be here. It's an option. She knows I don't like it here. I don't like dealing with everything. But I like Dad. And the guys aren't so bad.

"All right, Irene," Rogue said, straightening. "I hope the thing at NYU works out then. I promise I won't get caught fighting again, really."

Irene turned her head intently, raising an eyebrow behind her black glasses. "Marie," she began.

"I'll work on it," Rogue promised, almost whining. "Promise. Really, I will. And you know, I'm working on this project, so I might have to bring someone home tomorrow. Is that okay?"

"You'll do your work at the kitchen table," Irene said. "And only your work. And you have to be here by three fifteen. On the dot. Or earlier, if you can."

"I will," Rogue promised, standing to grab her backpack. "See? I'm already beginning my homework. Algebra is filled with homework-y love."

"I'll get working on supper, then," Irene replied, smiling. "Good little Muslims can't go hungry."

"What?" Rogue asked, looking up in confusion.

"Didn't you know? What are they teaching you? Algebra was invented in the middle east at the same time as the Dark Ages were sweeping Europe," Irene replied.

"So I get to blame my homework on Iran, then?" Marie asked hopefully.

"If you want to," Irene replied. "I would personally find better things to do with my time. My homework for example."

"Yes, Mom," Rogue sighed.

* * *

So, review if you like. I like reviews.


	24. Chapter 24: Russian Brownies

**Author's Note:** Thanks to all who are reading this. I think that one of the conversations is going to surprise several of my readers, but I have a reason for it, which will be explained at the end.

* * *

"So, wait, what do you want?" Kitty asked, looking at the group arrayed on her door step. She'd been doing homework all afternoon, and talking to her parents some more. Betsy was no where in sight, and Kitty was beginning to believe that she might have missed dinner because of her CS assignment and Calc homework.

Jean smiled back, as Scott looked uncertain, and John and Kurt nodded enthusiastically, although nothing had been said. Jean stepped forward, with her hand outstretched. "It's just like I told your parents on the phone. We're watching this movie Betsy has, and we thought you'd like to join us. Especially after the craziness of today."

"I still want to watch _Mirrormask_," John complained.

"Well, we're watching Bond, instead," Scott replied.

"The real old fashioned, Sean Connery Bond?" Kitty asked enthusiastically.

"Actually, it's the new _Casino Royal_," Jean replied with a shrug. "I've never seen it, but Betsy likes it."

"Well, if it's not Sean Connery," Kitty began, but Kurt jumped in beside her.

"C'mon, please, Kitty? There'll be cookies, and chips, and popcorn, and brownies. Betsy locked Piotr in our kitchen at four this afternoon, and he hasn't been seen since."

"Well, if you put it that way," Kitty said, imagining tall hunky Russians looming grandly over kitchen stoves. He would probably look just adorable in oven mitts. She colored at the thought of Piotr in just oven mitts, which was, with the help of a tastefully placed imaginary tea-cart, adorable.

"So, you're coming?" Scott asked, looking at his watch. "I don't want to be a stick in the mud, but--,"

"Well, you are a stick in the mud," Jean teased, taking Kitty by the hand.

The group surrounded Kitty, and hustled her towards the stairs. John and Kurt kept blocking everyone by bowing, and insisting that the other go first.

"Guys, there's a time and a place," Scott exclaimed in annoyance, as he checked his watch once more, in case time had speeded up in the three minutes spent coaxing Kitty to come. He didn't want to miss the opening of the movie. There might be cool explosions.

"Yeah, sure," John sighed. "So, Sergeant Summer, why're you wearing sunglasses at night, again?"

"High beams when I'm driving," Scott replied straight faced, as they continued along the corridor. "I know it's a safety hazard, but it's easier than being actually blinded. Also, most people like to watch movies with the lights off."

"You were diagnosed as legally blind when you were a kid, weren't you?" Jean asked.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "My vision's actually improved as I've grown up, but I'm still super light sensitive. It kinda sucks, too. I wanted to be in the air force when I grew up. That's not going to happen, I guess. I'm not even certain I can get a pilot's license."

"It'd be cool to learn how to fly," Kurt agreed, putting his hand up to catch the air, as they began to descend the main staircase.

John just stored the information away in his brain. It seemed rather depressing to know that Scott actually had a reason for his glasses. Especially since he, John, had been making fun of them to Rogue's gang. If it had just been an affectation -- well, now it turned out that it was something that might prevent Scott from doing what he wanted to do with his future. Making fun of that just seemed mean. Maybe in their story, John and Rogue could make their Scott Summers a super crack pilot.

"So, Kitty," Kurt was saying, as they turned toward the living room, "you have any favorite movies?"

"Well, I like _Ten Things I Hate about You_, and _She's All That_. The high school they used for that one was the same set for the _Buffy_ high school, did you know?" Kitty said.

"I love Joss Whedon," Scott said, making the group stop in their tracks. "What?"

"Dude," Kurt replied, "that's something a girl would say."

"Mind bleach is necessary for this conversation to continue, mate," John agreed.

"Really mature," Scott replied. "Seriously, Whedon writes really well. And he seems to believe in the innocence of childhood. I don't know, but his stories, are, well, look, I can really empathize with Xander, and _Firefly_ was amazing. His stories are good because, well, I mean, the good always prevails over the big bad. The guy will get the girl -- most of the time. Heck, the girl gets the girl. It's like a fairy tale that actually seems like it could happen."

"Vampires aren't real," Jean replied pointedly.

"And you are sooooo not Xander," Kitty replied, rolling her eyes. "For one thing you're actually clean shaven. For another you're competent. And he's not cute, while visually you're pretty cute."

"Now I don't agree with that," Jean replied, while Scott's cheeks colored. "Cute also accounts in personality, and Xander is as cute as Willow in a childish way. But I have to say--,"

"Wait, how do you even know about _Buffy_?" Kitty cut in.

"It was completely banned TV watching in my house growing up," Jean replied. "Of course me and my sister snuck over to friends' houses to see it. How do you think I know about it?"

"Why?" Scott asked. "You're parents weren't super religious or anything, were they? My family is very religious, but they didn't ban _Buffy_ of all things."

"I'm surprised," John chirped. "My dad would have beaten me with a stick if he'd known I watched anything as unmanly as that."

"How do you know it's unmanly?" Scott defended. "Did it even air in Australia?"

"Well, I don't know, I never really watched TV," John began.

"Hulu, season one. Watch it," Scott ordered.

"Did I just hear Sergeant Summers advocating something unmanly?" Betsy asked, looking around the door of the living room. "I haven't seen _Britney_ eith--,"

"It's _Buffy_, and you need to watch it," Scott cut in. "You've seen _Firefly_, haven't you? That should tell you why you need to watch it."

"Okay," Besty said, a little confused at Scott's intensity. "So, anyway, Russian brownies taste really good. But that might just be the vodka talking."

"Don't be silly," Piotr yelled from the couch, as the group trooped into the room. "You can't taste vodka. It's the schnapps talking."

"You know, I'm not sure those kinds of racial jokes are very funny," Jean began.

"Oh do relax," Betsy waved her away. "If it's Piotr who makes the Russian jokes, well, he's Russian, isn't he?"

"I still don't think it's very nice," Jean commented.

"Good grief," Betsy sighed. "I'm sorry for not being politically correct, all the time. Jeeze. You don't have to make everything into one of the Saturday lectures on humans rights, and whatever else the Professor wants us to know."

"But it's not politically correct," Jean replied. "It's just, it's not a good idea to generalize a whole group as drunks."

"But we have to create stereotypes to classify people at some level," Kitty cut in. "Otherwise our brains will explode."

"As I said to Betsy, this isn't one of the Saturday lectures," Jean replied, exasperated. "This isn't some academic theory, it's just not nice, or really all that funny to make jokes like that."

"Guys, interesting as this is, I'd kinda like to start the movie," Kurt said, sitting down on the couch with the whole popcorn bowl in one hand.

"Betcha can't eat popcorn upside down," John dared, sitting next to him, and thinking about hiccups.

"Oh yes, I can," Kurt stuck his tongue out, and then began shifting in his seat.

"Hey, there's not enough room for me," Kitty complained, seeing the couch, with the best angle to the TV already had three large boys on it.

"There will be if I sit in Piotr's lap," John promised gallantly.

Piotr looked at him. "I shall, how do you say, politely refuse."

"You can sit in my lap schatzchein," Kurt replied, waving a leg in the air. "Hey, my boxers are green today."

"No, dear heart, you still have the popcorn to finish," John protested. "But perhaps we could dance at the next school get together."

"Oh, could we? I heard it was Friday."

Scott hurriedly put the DVD in the DVD player. "Guys, do you have to do that? It's really awkward making."

"Where's the man defending Joss Whedon and true love now?" Kurt mocked.

"Willow and Tara don't make me super uncomfortable and they don't live right next door," Scott replied. "Look, just because I think people should, you know, date the people they like, doesn't mean I'm ready for the reality, okay?"

"But Scott, you're what the gay community has been waiting for," Jean laughed.

Scott's face stilled, and then he went to sit in one of the far chairs.

"I don't think that was very nice, Jean," Betsy mocked, plopping down on the floor.

"How about I just sit on Piotr's lap, then?" Kitty suggested coyly, as the play menu appeared.

Piotr went very still, and then hurriedly stuffed a brownie in his mouth. His reply was noncommittally indistinct.

Betsy hunted for the remote and pressed play, as Kitty slid into the empty lap. "Fine by me, but if we hear any kissy kissy noises, we're telling your parents."

"Shut up," Kitty replied, and then took her own advice as the movie started.

* * *

So, review if you like. I like reviews. Also, on Scott and Joss: Astonishing X-Men was originally created by MARVEL for Joss Whedon to write. One of the reasons that he got X-Men instead of say an Avengers title is that Joss is a major fan of the original team, particularly Scott, who he liked because for a long while Scott was sort of the Xander of the X-Men universe with a little bit of extra dork and less cool thrown in. Maybe he was more a Johnathan with better luck. This is all coming from interviews coming out around 2004 when Astonishing X-Men was new and there wasn't a whiff of the 3rd movie to blight our doorstep. Anyway, I decided that I wanted the Evo-Scott to admire the same purity of purpose that Joss supposedly likes about Scott's character. Just a nod of the fan-girl hat.

~ MF


	25. Chapter 25: The Dance

**Author's Note:** Now we're getting on track for a more Rogue Recruit story-line. Although Cody is likely to appear for longer than he did in Evo. Note: November has been Hellish for me. I'm not certain if I'll have an update ready for next week. I do have a couple of stories that I've had sitting on my computer for a while that I could upload, but none of them are in the Evo continuum, so, meh.

* * *

"Dude, you should ask her," James Kittling elbowed Cody in the ribs, as he watched his best friend's head swivel to follow Rogue through the homeroom crowds.

Cody shook his head mutely. "Girls like that don't date guys like me."

James rolled his eyes, as he stuck his hands into his varsity jacket, and continued down the hall. "Yeah, lonely little unpopular Goth chicks think game winning Left Tackles are beneath them."

"You forgot to mention she's beautiful, is quite popular with her own crowd, and is, you know, three times more intelligent than me," Cody pointed out. "I bet she still remembers being my tutor for English last year. It's not like I'm worth much on the intellectual level. Look at who she hangs around with. They say she's dating that Allerdyce kid from the special school. You know, one of the really smart kids."

"Actually, we're not," John said from behind the two football players, feeling very brave.

He'd over heard the chatter, and loved nothing better than the story of unrequited love. Something about the fact that it was Rogue under discussion made him feel a little, well, strange, but that was because he'd never had any female friends before.

James pumped his fist. "Score, man, c'mon," he shoved Cody towards Marie through the crowd.

Cody nearly collided with Rogue, and stopped short, blushing, seemingly unaware that the crowd of freshman and sophomores was parting around his bulk. "Uh. Hi?"

Rogue turned away from the window, perplexed. "Hi? Do I--,"

"It's me, Cody," the football player shifted his weight from foot to foot, thinking that this was an incredibly bad idea. In fact he should probably leave.

"Oh, do you need more help in English?"

Cody shook his head again, and behind him, James smacked his face with his palm.

"Actually, there's this dance Friday, and I know -- actually, what I was thinking was, maybe, well, actually. Um, will you be there?"

Rogue tried not to grind her teeth. The one week she was grounded, and someone actually wanted to hang out in a significant manner. "Sorry, I'm grounded," Rogue finally admitted. "I would, but, y'know, my mom's really strict."

"Oh. Well. Bye. Nice talking to you, really, but I wanted just to, well, bye?" Cody quickly stumbled backwards, and walked away quickly with James. John came up to Rogue, grinning.

"Y'wouldn't like the dance anyway," he told his friend. "It's supposed to be a mosh pit type thing. Y'know, you'd have to touch someone. What's your deal with that, anyway, my Roguery-Mogery Rogue?"

"First, don't call me that," Rogue demanded instantly. "Second, you can't just open the book of my life to any page you want, and just jump in. I don't like being touched, end of story."

"Ah, but it's just the beginning," St. John grinned brightly. "You know what the Rogue's super power is?"

"I don't touch people?" Marie asked darkly, seeing where this was going.

"You do and you absorb who they are through your skin," John crowed. "I haven't worked out the mechanics, like whether or not you can control it--,"

"I'd better be able to control it, you kangaroo," Rogue threatened, as she began making her way to English class. "I wouldn't be able to do anything, otherwise."

"But it adds pathos," John wheedled.

"It adds a ton of psychological issues," Rogue replied. "People who can't touch other people are usually considered to have something wrong with them developmentally for a reason."

"So you just break out, then," John suggested. "That's my chapter. You're at this movie, making out--,"

"No kissing, I refuse," Marie toldhim, out raged, and gaining a few confused looks from passers by.

"Okay, you're in the mosh pit of the school dance, and you accidentally--,"

"Could you stop using the word "you" in this context, please?" Rogue asked, looking around, as they entered the English classroom.

"Fine," Johnny shrugged. "R is at a rave, constantly touching and brushing up against people, steadily getting more disoriented, and confused, but keeps on going, because it's a mosh pit, and R is getting clear memories of enjoying the pit from everyone else."

"My mother would kill me if I went to a rave," Rogue pointed out, sitting down, and placing her chin on a fist.

"We could include her then," John replied, enthusiastically.

"No!" Rogue replied. "Oh, and since I'm grounded, can we work at this at my house? I have to be home by 3:15."

"Sure," Johnny replied, excited that he would soon meet Rogue's mother.

There was something sickly fascinating about seeing the kind of woman that would fall for Logan. He bet she was one of those tall, red-headed, breast-y types. Of course, that didn't quite explain Marie's looks. He was almost certain that Rogue's white forelock was a genetic condition. He'd heard about it in Biology sometime. One of those aggressive traits in human beings, or something.

Mr. McCoy set down a pile of books as he arrived at his desk. Their soft thwump attracted the attention of the students, who stopped talking.

"Thou toldst me thou didst hold him in thy hate," his mild eyes looked at the class. "Who told who, and who is held in hate? Anyone?"

No one raised a hand.

Mr. McCoy sighed, his broad shoulders straining against his polo shirt. "Despise me

If I did not. Three great ones of the city,

In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,

"Iago says, replying to his friend Roderigo. This is the opening of _Othello_ which I am happy to report will be our first book, I should say play, this year. You've all taken a brush up on grammar structures, which I'm certain pleased your foreign language instructors to no end. Now we get to the meat and drink of English. Literature, Shakespeare, and high art! It is quite possible that before the end of this class, I will have equipped you with the knowledge that will save the world. Shakespeare does that to you, you know," he coughed. "Anyway, I'll be passing around books and a sign out sheet. While we're at it, gimme some themes. I'll want twenty-five of them."

Rogue looked at John, before raising her hand. She wasn't certain she could get twenty-five themes out of any book, even if it had been written by Shakespeare. Still, first off the bat, and she looked as though she was pretty on the ball.

"Treachery," she suggested when McCoy pointed to her.

"Good. Kevin!"

The slouching boy with a sour expression on his face mumbled something about "Women."

"Feminine discourse," the English teacher corrected. John glared, as that had been the one thing that he had managed to pull from his suddenly cobwebby brain. Still, he'd taken Shakespeare back home, it couldn't be that hard to come up with something.

"Religion?" some girl from the back suggested in a quiet voice.

"Very good," Mr. McCoy told her. "Shakespeare lived during one of the most turbulent religious periods in Christian history, the Reformation. In England the Dissolution of the Catholic Church had already occurred under the reign of Henry the Eighth. By Elizabeth's time England had gone from Catholicism to Protestantism to Catholicism to Protestantism again. Elizabeth's successor, James the First was publicly Protestant, but many of the majority-protestant English suspected that he was secretly Catholic, given his Catholic-Scottish heritage, and the laws that he passed.

"Shakespeare wrote for both Elizabeth and James. While he may not have had any particularly devout religious leanings, he had to write to appease his patrons, and in this case, religion following the "safe fashion" is often seen in Shakespeare's plays as an undercurrent. But it is almost never explicit. Can anyone guess why?"

"Because if you're dependent on people who change their religious affiliation at the drop of a hat, you could be in serious trouble if you supported the wrong affiliation," John pointed out rather cynically.

The class went back to thinking up themes that might occur in _Othello_, with background notes from their teacher as they were mentioned. Most of the class had at least heard of _Othello_, and Mr. McCoy did start cheating at the very end of class, by putting themes that he thought had been missed on the board. Finally: "Read Act One for next class, and come in prepared to discuss the theme that I'll assign you. I want five questions that you will pose to the class written down, as well as any notes or observations that you have about your theme. Your theme will be e-mailed to you no later than one today, so check your email."

Rogue stuffed the soft paper copy into her backpack, and rose to leave. "Prepared for Chemistry, Johnny?" she asked.

"Are we making ice cream?" he asked eagerly, having heard that their teacher was planning to teach them about state changes and crystalline structures all at once with yumminess involved.

"Not yet," Rogue replied, heading out the door. "We've still got Gas Laws to get through."

"But we get to play with Bunsen burners for the gas laws, don't we?" St. John pointed out with palpable enthusiasm.

"Sometimes I just don't get you."

* * *

So, review if you like. I like reviews.

~ MF


	26. Chapter 26: Cafeteria Brawl

**Author's Note:** It kinda got silly towards the end. Heh.

Anyway, in response to **Misfit010** - Thanks for giving me that info! I have already figured out the general plot line, but I love sneaking references in from the comic stuff at every chance I get. Heck, I just love sneaking stuff in. It always gives me a bunch of warm fuzzies when someone notices/comments on the parallels that I place in the fic. If you have anything you particularly want to see, that doesn't clash with future plans I may have for the characters, I love to hear them. I might separate them out from the main story, and do a one shot, if they don't fit. Anyway, thanks for being a wonderful and patient reader. It always makes me happy.

* * *

The day had been fairly normal, Scott mused unhappily, until Jean found him at the last Lunch period. Scott's AP Global History class always meant late lunch, but usually that was not accompanied by Jean walking hip to hip with Matthews through the lunch room where he could see them.

"Dude, the milk carton hasn't done anything to—oh crap," chocolate milk jetted out of laminated cardboard as Scott squeezed too hard. It passed Todd Tolanski's head by a good foot, mainly because the short boy had the presence of mind to duck, but Fred Dukes got caught square in the chest by Scott's former beverage of choice.

"Smooth move man, ja?" Kurt said, setting down his tray on the nearest table, and searching about for napkins.

"Eh, it's Bayville, don't pass anyone by who's got a crush," Todd philosophized, as Fred got redder and redder.

Scott matched the choleric Dukes shade for shade, however. "I don't have a crush!"

The immediate orbit of people staring suddenly got much bigger. There were a few snickers, and then some outright laughter. A dark haired girl pushed a napkin dispenser at Kurt, turning back to her friends with an embarrassed blush. Todd eyed Fred for signs of impending berserk rage, and they were all there.

That was until Jean quickly inserted herself into the conversation, handing Fred some napkins with a diffusing smile. Scott face-palmed out of her line of sight, still pink, he placed the crushed milk carton carefully back on his tray. It fell over, just in time for him to hear: "Sorry about that. Did Scott spill anything else on you?"

His thick eyebrows snapped together over the bridge of his glasses, and the young man sat down quickly. The snickers died down enough for Scott to hear Matthews's: "Great way to win a girl's heart, throwing your milk over the Blob."

Fred set his jaw angrily, as the quarterback turned to sit down at his own table. CRASH! He fell to the floor. At the nearest table, Pietro removed his foot from the aisle with delicate slowness. He leaned leisurely back in his chair, surrounded by several girls, grinning. "Oh, sorry, Matthews, just trying to impress Crystal, here. Did it work, darling?"

He waved at a haughty looking girl in overalls with green hair, and a paint brush sticking out of one pocket, who has been making her way toward the salad bar line. The art student considered that her luck had turned to the worst when one of the horrible popular kids noticed her. If she was prickly enough, he might take the hint and go away. She gave him a cool blue eyed stare.

"In your dreams, Maximoff. I'm not sure that green peas even improve the lout's complexion."

She passed by, neatly stepping over the slowly rising form of Duncan Matthews.

"Maximoff!"

"Why yes?" Pietro asked, grinning widely. "Are my ears tingling?"

With a grunt Duncan rose from the floor, and lunged at the table. Pietro slipped off, rolling away from his seat. Duncan landed among cafetreria trays and angry high school girls with a new crash.

Five feet away, Pietro tilted his head to one side, light blue eyes dancing like Iris' feet on a rainbow: "Oh, Fred, the things I do to defend your honor," he posed dramatically.

In a blurring whirl of limbs he slammed his elbow into the purple varsity jacket, preventing Duncan from rising with a squeal of pain. A tray bounced off Pietro's shoulder, and then what only could have been a bear charged right into him.

"Gah, Rutherford, get the fuck off me!" he beat at Cody's shoulders ineffectually.

Cody clung on, determined not to have his captain taken out of the game for the weekend because he'd been fighting in the cafeteria. Duncan, on his feet for the third time, grinned, and cracked his knuckles. WHAM! A meaty fist crashed right into his side. Fred watched in satisfaction as Duncan left the ground for a few seconds, spinning in the air. James Kittling caught him, staggering back into another table.

"Man, Duncan, don't be so troublesome, dude," the right tackle sighed, seeing Cody about to get into massive trouble in front of the whole school. He didn't give two straws about Duncan. The guy was a dick. But Cody was going to be up for Co-Captaincy next year, and the coach remembered stupid things like brawls in the cafeteria. James wanted to see someone decent leading the team for once.

"Screw that, Kittling," Duncan grunted, and lunged away from James' restraining hands, just as Pietro managed to struggled out of Cody's grip. The skinny chest heaved, something reckless sparking behind the track star's eyes.

BAM!

"What is going on!?" Ms. Monroe set down the empty tray that she had slammed against the dumpster with a crash of thunder.

"Maximoff was being a jerk. Again," the artistic Crystal commented from behind the lunch monitor. "But then, so was Matthews."

"Thank you for that impartial statement," the drama teacher sighed in exasperation. "Pietro, Duncan, James, Cody, Fred, come with me. Now."

"But," Cody began, about to protest that Duncan had been the one attacked. They'd only been standing up for their captain.

"Shut it, Cody," James hissed.

"Now," Ms. Monroe growled.

The five students moved after her pointing finger, Duncan and James still covered in other people's lunch. Jean gazed sadly after the group, before sitting down with Scott. "Oh this is too bad. I hope they don't suspend Duncan. Or Fred."

"Or, you know, any of them," Betsy said, sitting right next to Kurt. Rogue, who had been behind her, looked as though she was about to veer off, but Betsy yanked her down. "C'mon, we're not gonna breathe cooties on ya. Anyway, give us the low down: since when has whitey been able to move so fast?"

Rogue shrugged, uncomfortable with the proximity of Jean, Scott, and the fact she had almost broken her promise to Irene about not fighting. Thank goodness for Ms. Monroe. Two minutes more, and she would have had some issues.

"Oh, he's always been that fast," someone commented from behind the small group facing Jean across the long table. Marie jumped, looking back up at some back kid—Evan Daniels? He still had his helmet under one arm.

"Dude," he continued, slapping a casual high five with Kurt, "what's up? Maximoff can't be fighting now. We've got try outs for basket ball in a week. I can't let him get suspended before I grind him into the ground."

"You know, I'm beginning to think that the American approach to sport is slightly less healthy than radiation poisoning," Betsy commented. "Hi, sorry, you are?"

"Evan," he smiled widely. "You haven't seen anything. You should come to try outs. It'll be something to watch, just as long as we've got some good players, this year. Scott, dude, you're in on this, right?"

"Not this year, man," Scott shrugged, poking peas around on his plate, and not meeting Jean's eye. "I'm already doing some self-defense for kids class after school. Aikido, you know. I won't have time to do that, basket ball, and keep up my grades. Remember, there's a price to getting into Xavier's."

"Which is why you won't see me there, no way," Evan shook his head emphatically. "Anyway, that's pretty low, dude. Kurt, man, see you after school?"

"Sure. Just got a new long board," Kurt replied, giving Evan a thumbs up, although Evan did not look particularly excited by this piece of news.

"Man, you can't do real tricks with that thing. What's with getting it?"

"Chicks dig the long board, man," Kurt insisted.

"Rahiiiiiiit," Rogue commented cynically to Betsy, about to rise, and find some people she wanted to sit with.

The purple haired Brit yanked her arm down again, as St. John set down his tray with a sigh. "Monday casserole surprise. I've never been a big fan of casseroles. Do you think it has any fish in it?" he poked suspiciously at the gray and brown pile.

"Dude, it's totally made out of dead people's fingers," Kurt grinned.

"Gross! Some of us are trying to eat!" Jean exclaimed, and Rogue had to agree, especially when Betsy picked up a green bean, to eat it with relish and: "Om nom, inner organs of beasts!"

John continued to look at his plate, shaking his head. "Sorry, mate. Fish are still more disgusting. They live in their own poo."

"GUYS!" Scott thumped his fist on the table.

"Soooo, community service," Jean agreed, to change the topic. "I hadn't known you'd already found your project for the semester, Scott. I was hoping to get someone to sign up with me for the one I found. Maybe I'll ask Kitty."

"Huh, what?!" Scott asked, seeing a chance to work closely with Jean slipping through his fingers.

Jean fished in her backpack at her feet to bring up a few pamphlets. Kurt had the presence of mind to grab one, while Scott was still trying to mentally re-arrange his schedule to accommodate both Aikido, and whatever Jean was doing.

"SYNE?" Kurt asked.

"Special Youngsters in New Environments," Jean replied. "It's a new program being run through Big Brother, Big Sister for long term mentoring with kids who've been placed in the foster system. I'm going to the first training meeting today. I was hoping more of us could donate our time."

Kurt handed back the pamphlet. "No way, being in the foster system and the words "Special Youngsters"? They want the poor souls to be dealing with kids that are screwed up in the head."

"You know, not everyone who's not with their blood parents has been messed up by that!" Rogue exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Her tray rattled as she thumped it on the table.

"Yeah, but, I mean, I didn't mean that!" Kurt defended himself. "I just meant, well, you know, I'm just fifteen years old. I'm not ready to help myself, let alone be trusted with some other kid!"

"That's why we go through 36 hours of training to get certified," Jean explained patiently. "Marie's right that most kids don't have issues, but this program is for special referrals. C'mon Kurt. Worst comes to worst, you don't like the meeting, and you don't come back."

"Well, I'm not doing anything after I hang with Evan, but,"

"Great!" Jean grinned. "I'll pick you up. Anyone else? Marie, you want to?"

"I'm grounded for the week," Rogue replied, before realizing that she was having a civil conversation with Jean, the backstabber. "Hey, bell's about to ring, and I have to go to Drama. Scott, St. John, you coming?"

She rose quickly, pocketing the apple on her tray as the least suspicious piece of food. Walking past Kurt, who was glaring at his food, thinking that he had been planning to hang out with Betsy and Kitty, if not for Jean's aggressive recruitment alternative, she let the two guys get sucked into her wake.

Scott was looking troubled. It had almost been a good day, he thought. Now here he was, half an hour after the lunch bell, and Jean thought he threw food at people. So, instead of talking with her about the community service project (which sounded really awesome, he certainly would have given anything for someone like Jean looking out for him in the early years), he was following Marie Alder, disagreeable and belligerent, to drama. St. John was just an added bonus to the day.

"So, what are you planning for your community service for this semester?" Scott wanted to know, trying to strike up conversation.

"Dunno," John shrugged. "Is it required?"

"Well, yeah, it's required. Ten hours of service a semester," Scott pointed out. "I mean, you only have to look at the program guidelines for Xavier's."

"Well, I'll do whatever Betsy's doing," John told him, unconcerned. "As long as it doesn't involve kids. I hate squealers."

"Still, you'd be surprised what you'll put up with once you start doing something," Rogue interjected. "I worked at one of the city soup kitchens last winter. It was horrible, but I'll probably start doing it again once it opens."

"Really?" Scott asked, astonished. "But, wait, you mean the City soup kitchens? In winter? Wasn't that dangerous?"

Rogue shrugged, her black back pack shifting. "Maybe I was courting death at the time. Eh. It was a little scary at night when I had to take the buses back, but I know a guy with a motorcycle, and he or his daughter would come and pick me up. It was really cool, actually."

"I didn't know you did anything like this," Scott commented, amazed, as he pushed open the door to the drama class.

His seat was at the round table near the window, but he sat down with Rogue and John, in their corner instead, too amazed by the revelation that someone like Marie would do any kind of community service. Maybe. No, that was a crazy thought. He smiled a bit, though, and relaxed enough to continue the conversation.

They were still talking when Pietro came in, flanked by Fred, and Ms. Monroe. Scott quickly excused himself. Rogue glared. "I can think of better times for you to appear," she told her best friends.

"Eh, I'm going to be stuck painting a mural on the south wall for all my weekends," Pietro replied. "Plus, he's not good enough for you, anyway. I'm the only one for you, right?"

"Right," Rogue rolled her eyes.

"You and Cody," John grinned, wanting to watch any face color changes that might occur.

"Cody? Rutherford?! You mean that big blond lug without a brain cell to rub together?!" Pietro exploded.

"Yeah. He asked me out," Rogue replied coolly, wondering if she should even be sharing this information, and feeling elated, as the information from that morning sank through her other worries. He had asked her out. Someone has thought that she, Marie Alder, was, well, interesting. It was pretty cool.

"What did you say?" Pietro wanted to know. "You'd better not have said yes. The apocalypse is nigh if you did."

"Nah," John replied. "Only if she kisses someone."

"Hey, you're not that good of a friend," Rogue punched him playfully.

"Well, what did you say?" Fred wanted to know sincerely. "I mean, Cody's not the worst guy out there. But he's kinda – you'd get bored, I'd think."

"He's nice," Rogue emphasized, glaring around. "Anyway, I'm grounded."

"But yeah, you're going out with him," Pietro commented.

"I never said that!" Rogue glared. "Look. I only tutored him in paper writing for his English class last year. It's not like I know him. Maybe I would have gone to the dance with him. Maybe not. I don't know. It's not like I've ever been asked out before."

"Someone asked you out?!" Todd exclaimed, pulling up a chair. "Wait. Since when?"

"Thanks," Rogue grunted, collapsing to her crossed elbows on the table. "I should have known better than to let you open your big mouth," she glared pointedly at John.

He shrugged orange sweatshirt clad shoulders. "Hey, I just wanted to see them jump. You said no already. Why does it matter?"

"It matters because—because I might have said yes, otherwise. Look, I don't expect you to get it," Rogue sighed.

"'Cause we're guys," Todd nodded sagely, glad that the conversation could be dropped.

"No! Because I don't understand it," Rogue hissed. "Look. It just happened this morning. I need time to digest what happened, all right?"

Pietro shook his head. "Sheesh, you're slow. If Scott asked you out right now--,"

"He won't, though!" John inserted quickly, thinking of how awful it would be to see Rogue dancing with Scott, while Mr. Military cast Jean longing glances.

"You'd take a week to decide, despite the fact that you've been mooning after him."

"That's different!" Rogue exclaimed. "Since when is it pick on Rogue day, anyway? I just thought it was kind of nice that he wanted to see me at the school dance. It's not like I can go. Or that I committed to a long term relationship."

Lance came through the door, and walked up to Pietro. His method of greeting the pale track star was cuffing him around the head. "That's for being an idiot with the entire football team. Were you born for suicide? You're lucky Fred was there."

Pietro rubbed the back of his head. "You know what, most friends commiserate and try to help a guy out."

"Most friends don't try to start rumbles in the cafeteria all on their own," Lance pointed out.

"I had Fred!" Pietro protested.

"And if he hadn't been there that little imp instinct of yours would have tried to upset Matthews some other way," Lance replied exasperatedly. "Fred back me up. Mathews was being a jerk, but what's new? Pietro, on the other hand, you're actually worth something, and you're trying to get expelled?"

"Ah, Darkholme really put the fear of God into you last week, didn't she?" Pietro asked.

"My Mom says I get a one way car trip to Mississippi if I get involved in anymore fights," Rogue put in. The boys all looked askance.

"Woah. You're not kidding about not being able to go out with that guy, are you?" Todd whistled. "That grounded thing means somethin' in your house, don't it?"

"Yeah," Rogue tried not to wince as she felt Lance's eyes widen.

"Wait? What?!"

They spent a few succinct seconds of John rehashing the morning's adventure, only having to stop when Lance began to laugh. "Man, Rogue, you've got the worst luck. Someone asks you out, and you're grounded."

"Yeah, well I probably would have said no, anyway," Rogue sighed, wanting the subject buried. "Cody's nice, but I don't know him or anything. Really."

"'Sides," Lance grinned wolfishly, "Any man dating you would have to take you from us."

"I have other friends, you know," Rogue told him dryly.

"Yeah, but we're your Brothers," Fred put a hand on her shoulder. Well, four fingers of his hand. "It's like the advantage of having people who love you without having to buy them Christmas presents."

"Don't you mean disadvantage?" Rogue asked, foreseeing a lonely spinsterhood for herself for one amusing moment.

Still, the young goth reflected, they would have to get in line behind Logan and Exie. It wasn't as though she really wanted a boyfriend, anyway. Well, maybe Scott, but some days she wasn't even sure of that, anymore. It had been so weird. Weren't you supposed to feel something momentous when someone you liked asked you out? She hadn't felt anything for Cody, but Rogue had been flattered. Maybe that was a sign of something greater. Maybe not. Who knew?

"--your attention," Ms. Monroe's voice finally cut through her musing. "Yes I know I started class a little late. We have a special presentation that I want to be sure that you've heard. Mr. Worthington?"

She stood aside on the stage for an immaculate man in an expensive suit. He didn't look right for the backstage drama class room. "Hi. I'm Warren Worthington," the man waved a little self consciously. "Anyway, on Saturday the Long Island County Vandalism and Violence Alternative is going to be holding a workshop in self defense. Ms. Monroe is one of the instructors, and we have a few other local volunteers. It's happening near the Bayville cemetery, so, yeah, please come. It should prove pretty instructive."

"That was—moving, Warren," Ms. Monroe sighed, clearly wishing he'd had a better pitch. "Anyway, this Saturday from twelve to three. We'll be providing a late lunch. And if I don't see all of you there, please understand that I am a very fragile woman, and you will miss seeing me throw an adult man through a brick wall in self defense. So, for our warm up activity. Prop box everyone! Lance, Pietro, grab your props, and remember, you're to create a character based on the props.

Both boys sighed, and got up, quickly grabbing the first thing that came to hand. Pietro got lucky, and pulled out a sword. It looked convincing until it wobbled, and Rogue had to fight the giggles that her overview of Freudian analysis from psychology was giving her. Lance's prop of choice was a feather duster. He did not appear thrilled, but the rest of the class was smothering grins.

"All right, the scene is you just got these in the mail," Ms. Monroe began.

"Awesome! I've got a broken sword!" Pietro's voice was a study in modulated enthusiasm.

"I've got a feath--,"

"Enough about you. Let's talk about my sword. Isn't this great?" Lance glared as Pietro cut him off. "I love swords, really. I'm a little disappointed you didn't get a sword, so then we could fight."

"I'm not a fan of--,"

"Who cares," Pietro shrugged jauntily. "I love swords. I would trade my first born daughter for a decent Claymore."

"And that's why you will never meet any woman who's interested in you," Lance jibed.

"All the women are interested in me, Lance, didn't you know?" Pietro grinned. "Even some men. Why don't you float that fairy duster over--,"

"Ma'am? I'm about to go out of character," Lance called out, dropping the feather duster in disgust.

Ororo nodded.

"Libby?"

An energetic girl with beaming eyes launched up the steps to the stage, and retrieved the duster. "Behold! I am SUBVERSION!" she exclaimed, reaching out to tickle Pietro with the feathers. "With light touches, and feminine masterwork I remove the dirt from your soul, and bring your male dominated patriarchal society closer to enlightenment!"

"But, hey, aren't we focusing on me?"

"Only to convert you to our ways that you, in your unheeding selfishness--,"

"But this is still about me--,"

"OPRESS!"

Lance watched her for a few moments, as she chased Pietro around the stage. "Now why can't I do that?"

"Probably because you're a white boy who belongs in every privileged category except for socioeconomic class that exists in America," John suggested. The guys turned to look at him. "What? It's true."

"Oh, I'm sure," Lance replied, "I'm just not certain I understood all of the words that you just used."

Pietro sat down, flushed, and grinning broadly, as a nervous Scott took up the sword of Patriarchy.

"That Libby girl is intense. Wonder if she likes me."

"Every girl likes you," Todd commented dully. "You're a girl machine."

"True, true."

"Until they find out you're bartering children for swords," Fred pointed out. "I heard that doesn't go over too well."

Pietro shrugged. "It's the truth, though. I've always loved swords. They're just so sharp and pointy fun."

Rogue looked at John. "You should hear this guy on Bunsen burners, then, if that's what you think."

The small group snickered, and then continued to watch Scott try to match Libby's aggressive prop tactics.

* * *

Note on Crystal: Originally she was never going to be in this. The fic is going to involve a LOT of Pietro, especially as it wraps up, because, you know, Hex Factor, and that arc, is where it will end. I personally want it to be more balanced, in terms of screen time, for the supporting cast, and adding Crystal adds a whole 'nother level to the amount of Pietro time we get. Also, I have strong feelings about people of high school age being mature enough to know what love is: Pietro and Crystal, while they are possibly one of the best examples of marriage-fail Marvel has to offer (not that Scott/Jean, or Antman's poisonous relationship with Wasp aren't also fantastic marriage-fail examples), are in love. They just can't stand one another at the same time. And 616 Marvel's Crystal is, well, loose, while Pietro is obsessed. Anyway, I'm not sure if I want to get into that can of worms in an Evo-based 'verse. Buuuuuut, Pietro needed to wisecrack about impressing girls, some random artist with green hair wandered by, and she told me that she was Evo's version of Crystal. End of story.

So, review if you like. I like reviews.

~ MF


	27. Chapter 27: Meeting the Mom

**Author's Note:** This is more character development, rather than action, and I'm sorry, but no Cody-liciousness for a while. You'll see him Saturday, fic time *wink.*

* * *

John gazed around the picture filled entry way. All these faces of Rogue and other people, some of whom he recognized vaguely as teachers and professional people. Rogue peered around a door that lead into a narrow living room, with a stereo system hiding among a wall of bookshelves. Someone fond of reading had placed several lamps and wall sconces near there, along with two comfy looking chairs, and a neat afghan for wrapping around knees on long winter nights. Minus the lack of a fireplace, John realized he was seeing exactly what he wanted to achieve out of his life. Books, a nice place to read them, and some haven of peace in a chaotic world.

"Irene?" Rogue called, looking at the clock on one wall. "Are you in the kitchen? I brought my English partner back home."

"Kitchen!" a woman called out.

Rogue nodded, leading John towards the next doorway, and poked her head in, before motioning him forward. He felt rather as though he was in the middle of a covert operation, and didn't dare speak until Rogue shoved him hard in the ribs.

"Uh, hi?" he waved, causing a trim woman bent over the stove to turn around. From the lines, and gray hairs that were his second impression, John would have said that she was in her forties. But none of these observations hit home as clearly as the fact that Rogue's mother was wearing sunglasses, and had a cane strapped to her arm.

"Hello," she reached out a hand.

He grasped it unthinkingly, realizing half way through the handshake that he was having direct contact with someone who was incapable of seeing his blaring orange sweatshirt, hair, or blue eyes. Her only knowledge of him would be the feeling of his palm, soft, with burn calloused fingertips.

This was Rogue's mother.

"I'm St. John Allerdyce," the boy managed in a strangled breath. "Er, Ma'am."

"You don't need to be formal, whatever Marie has said," she smiled, making the Australian wonder if that was where some of Marie's softer edges had come from. For a moment, he was certain that Irene was a well of infinite compassion, and then he beat himself up for romanticizing her. Odd, that meeting the mother, he suddenly saw how much of Logan was really in Rogue: In her activity, aggression, vitality. What had it been like, growing up with a woman who couldn't see? Had Rogue been the adult?

"Aren't you here to do work?" Irene asked severely as John stood dumbstruck.

"Er, yes," he moved to the kitchen table as though stung. Rogue stayed standing. "Irene, do you want me to do anything for dinner?"

"No, dear. Just make sure John gets home before six thirty, as his Professor told me he's become lax about his curfew, so getting him back before dinner might help on that front."

"You know Professor Xavier?" John let out in a strangled whoosh.

"We go back to my school days," Irene replied quietly. "He actually got me an interview with NYU a while back."

"What?" Rogue asked, her eyes wide. "You never told me this."

"Was it important?" Irene asked blandly, turning back to check the heat on the stew with a cautious taste test.

John marveled at the way she did the work deftly, without splashing the concoction anywhere, or setting things on fire.

"And aren't you supposed to be working on homework, missy?" the woman asked her daughter severely, not hearing anything that sounded like the rustling of paper.

"Yes Ma'am," Rogue's head went down automatically, and she began to search for her notebook. "So, Johnny, I finished the second chapter. You can proof it if you like. I haven't finished looking at the first, though. I think there should be more oomph—if our point is about the fact these people can do fantastic things, shouldn't we make them do, you know, fantastic things?"

"But the mystery—the mystique of the whole thing," Johnny remarked sadly. "I like making it a huge reveal at the end."

"Meh," Rogue shrugged. "Well, I think you'll notice that I started off with the reveal in chapter two. I'm thinking that unlike our first two victims, most kids don't have the fantastic stuff until they "break out" so to speak. I mean, some are probably born with it from birth--,"

John laughed.

"Okay, bad phrasing. But you know what I mean," Rogue sighed. "Anyway, the first two characters--,"

"Nightcrawler and Toad," John interjected helpfully. "I'm using call signs until we come up with names. Unless you object to _that_, too."

Gray eyes narrowed. "I don't object that much. And it's for the sake of my own sanity, as much as anything else."

"You object to everything I think of," John ribbed, smiling at her.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Shut up," a pencil tapped her notebook. "Anyway, you got any ideas for chapter three that don't involve R having an embarrassing time."

John put his chin on his fist, mimicking Rogue's favorite pose, although she wouldn't have recognized it. "Alright, so I like torturing my characters."

"She is not your character!"

"Yeah, I just have exclusive rights to writing her," he retorted.

"I can't wait 'till we get to J," Rogue shot back menacingly.

John managed to look innocent as he shrugged. "Eh, you do have some say over what happens to her. Anyway, thanks for doing all of chapter two by yourself. I could have helped, if you'd asked."

Rogue shook her head. "I like writing, St. John. Anyway, you've been doing the most for this project. I've been feeling left out. And since I'm not allowed to write anything for the next chapter, I was hoping we could get started on mapping where this is going. I don't mean to say I'm not having fun, and all, but we need to do things, like concretely have a Big Bad, and deal with that. We're soon gonna have a lot of goodie-goods, too, and well, it doesn't seem balanced, team wise. Even though R is going to be evil, that's still two or three bads to S, J, K, PX, MM, and L. Yes, we made PD evil, but she doesn't seem to be doing much, other than hanging out behind her desk, and yelling at people."

John nodded, "Yeah, you're kinda right, sheila. But I dunno. It's kinda awkward seeing as two of the bads are based on our friends, and we don't even know PD. Besides, I'm not good at writing antagonism. Catty, great, I can do that. Manipulative, I work with you, I'm your man. Mindless aggression is where I run into trouble. It reads fake when I'm done with it."

"Well, that's good, because fight scenes are what I do," Rogue smiled. "And don't worry about making the guys out to be scum balls. They'd find it hilarious. Both T and L, once he gets over what I did to his character—,"

"What?!" John reached out to grab the ream of paper that was the second chapter. Calloused fingers quickly leafed through the pages, and he muttered as he read: "eyes rolled back in his head... fine, I'm gonna bury you...crashing down on... oh goodness," blue eyes raised to Rogue's gray-green ones. "If he ever reads this we are going to need a bunker, supplies for ten years, and possibly some dopple gangers to draw off the heat."

"He's not that bad," Rogue told John, rolling her eyes. "And as a courtesy, we should let them read the almost final version, _if_ they want to. We will be handing it into McCoy, and he has an awkward habit of reading aloud pieces he likes to his other classes. You have no idea how many classes he teaches, either. He's like a machine."

"I went to NYU with him," Irene commented as she poured water into a tea kettle. "It's nice to know he has not changed all that much. When I last visited him, he was telling me how he was quite reformed and actually slept some nights."

John's eyes skipped sideways to the older woman. "Is everyone in Bayville somehow tangled together in this crazy incestuous web of past selves?" he asked, confused.

"Small town mentality right next to the big apple, where everyone ends up at some point in their life, and you're surprised by the number of freaky co-incidences?" Irene inquired blandly. "It also doesn't hurt that you're friends with Marie. Everyone I've ever known I can usually trace back to Logan or NYU, and often times, both. May I be correct in guessing that you're writing a novel using your friends as the basis for the main characters?"

"Yes, Mom," Rogue looked down. "And It's not the kind of novel I'm gonna read to you until it's done. If I'll read it to you, ever."

Irene moved to a cupboard, making John wonder once again how well she knew the layout of her own apartment. "Of course, dear. You don't want a repeat of _Queen Anna-Marie and the Rogue Thief_, I'm assuming."

It was possible that under her make-up Marie had turned a bright shade of red. "I wrote that when I was six! How can you be holding that over me, still?"

"It was an amazing first effort," Irene replied.

"Yeah, well now I know about the dangers of self insertion," she crossed her arms, and turned away.

John grinned, but took pity on his friend. "It can't be as bad as _No Rose without Thorns_, which was one of my most awkward writing moments."

Gray eyes looked at him skeptically. "Really? Let's just say Queen Anna-Marie had enough magic to level a small planet, and recreate the world as a garden of Eden."

Johnny held up a silencing finger. "Allow me to give you a summary: Magdalene falls in love with Dashing Hero One in the first act. Scheming Rival Gwen steals Dashing Hero One in the second act. Pure little Magdalene distraught over the loss of Dashing Hero One throws herself to her death in a touchingly tragic finale. Purple prose abounds."

Rogue shared a glance with her mother. "You ever thought about getting that stuff published? I mean, that sounds pretty much like every tragic Romance novel ever."

"Yeah, you know why? Because it is. Look, at twelve I thought it was the greatest thing ever. Looking at it now, I need to actually get my own style that doesn't cookie cutter Harlequin Presents all over its pages. The only thing that I can be proud of is that the ass hat to door mat ratio is fairly on the level."

Rogue and Irene burst out laughing at the same time, causing John to feel fairly pleased with himself. Sitting back in his chair, however, his eyes fell once again to the incriminating second chapter. "That doesn't stop the fact that we are so dead if we ever show this to anyone, though."

"Eh, Lance's bark is worse than his bite," Rogue shrugged. John, who remembered the stinging pain of getting shoved into his locker door, decided not to say anything. "I'll handle him, if he gets angry. I wrote the chapter, after all."

"I just hope we don't base any characters on Pietro or Fred," John groaned. "We'll be in for it, then."

"Hah," Rogue grinned, before tapping her notebook again. "Still, can we talk about direction? I really want an over all plot to follow."

"Yeah, but does it have to involve a big bad?" John asked plaintively. "I'd rather have friendly reconciliation and joiningness of the together to help promote peace, prosperity, and all that jazz. Big bads you have to take seriously."

"Sometimes life is serious, John," Marie pointed out. "And that is just how the cookie crumbles. Besides, if we're making superheroes they've gotta fight something. What's the use of making them able to crush faces if you're not gonna use it?"

"Don't wanna take big bads seriously," John complained. "Anyway, I don't know who we could make the big bad. I just can't think of any really evil characters. They all end up like fuzzy-wuzzy kittens playing with yarn."

"Look, we've talked a little about this already. I've got a few stock villains from things that I've scrapped," Rogue replied. "There was a metal demon that I could probably tweak into something that would fit the universe. And as long as we keep him shadowy we don't need to worry about him until the big finale. You've already given two henchmen, which will work out pretty well as intermediary big bads."

John sighed. "Okay, okay. So, we've got two people recruiting young mutants. I guess the real answer is for what? Okay, so we know that PX wants to train them, so that they can fit into society, what does PD want?"

"You mean, besides creating a villain team that lets me write awesome battle sequences?" Rogue asked, glad that they were finally getting somewhere. "Well, the other guys are like the antithesis of the goods. They follow the if you can crush heads, why not do it, school of thought. That's why the fights are happening. Because we're making an exciting morality play, or something. I guess the shadowy big bad doesn't agree with PX on a very basic level. Oh, he probably thinks if you've got strange powers, you probably shouldn't go blasting holes in things, but PX is all about conforming to the society you live in, and our big bad thinks that society had better conform to you."

John shook his head. "Rogue, c'mon, be realistic. If, say, I could control fire, and people found out about it, they'd probably want me behind bars or signed up for the army. Society is not going to conform to me with fire powers without trying to take advantage. It'd be stupid for big bad to expect that."

"So, that's his issue, then," Rogue replied. "He doesn't like normal people, and wants to make the world safer for mutants. So he's gonna try to, I don't know, make super mutants, or something that can crush the human interference."

Irene snorted, coming over to the two in two sure steps, and setting tea before them. "Marie, darling, when your villain has such a comic-book motivation, maybe you should think about making his motives a little deeper, hmm?"

John reached out eagerly for the tea. Rogue's mother was wonderful, he decided. "Thanks."

"Look, I'll work on it," Rogue shrugged. "I need to have a little time to work out the specifics. Okay? Gimme that much. Anyway, I guess what I want them working towards is a big face off where they have to reveal what they are to the world, no matter what. I mean, the first salvo might be just finding out who the big bad is, but the story is gonna end with changing the world."

Irene smiled, as she ruffled Rogue's hair hesitantly. "Always the dreamer, hmm?"

"Yeah," Rogue smiled up at Irene, before turning to dig around in her backpack. "Anyway, I'll get working on my proof of chapter one. Why don't you pick a name for chapter four? And we need a baddie for this one. The goody goods can't have it all their way."

John grinned, finding the list of names he had copied down in his notebook. Setting the pencil in his hand on it, John made the wooden cylinder spin neatly.

"What, no random paper ball?" Rogue teased.

John looked up, and shook his head. "Nah. It was getting grody."

"Heh," she looked back down at her copy, circling a few things she felt warranted more of an explanation.

John looked down as well, only to feel his heart plummet as he read the name. "Uh. Rogue? Remember when I said I didn't want to have any more of people who might squash us flat involved?"

She looked up. "You got Fred, didn't you?"

"Maybe?"

The girl chewed the end of her pencil for a moment, and then shrugged. "One super strength powerhouse character coming up. Think you're gonna help me with this one?"

John looked down at the vague outlines he had for chapter three. "Actually, I think R might be making a few more appearances," he grinned. "Of a non-embarrassing nature, I assure you."

"Good. Because the rave one is off."

"Forever and ever?" John asked. "No rave at all?"

"Yes!"

He waved a non-scribbling hand at her. "Oh you, you're so fun to tease."

"Mom! Why aren't you helping me?" Rogue turned to look over her shoulder.

Irene moved away from her position against the counter to press the on switch on the oven. "You can take him, dear."

"Hah!"

Things did quiet down for a few hours, spaced out by pauses to make more tea, as well as some verbal rough housing between Rogue and John. By the time Irene came back into the kitchen to tell the two that they had to get going, Rogue was almost certain that she had convinced John to put her character into absolutely no rave-like situations.

"You may walk him home Marie, but you had better not take more than twenty minutes," Irene told the girl, as John was pulling his stuff together. "I know how far it is to the institute, and you'll go there, and come straight back."

"Yes Ma'am," Rogue nodded, surprised that she was being let out this far while grounded. Maybe this would be a good time to ask about the dance. Or perhaps the Saturday workshop. She liked martial arts. Making her decision quickly, Rogue asked: "And Irene, there's a workshop that Ms. Monroe is involved in, this Saturday. It's all about self defense and such. I was wondering if I could go—I mean I know I'm grounded, but Ms. Monroe really wanted her class to come, and it sounded pretty cool, you know."

Irene raised her eyebrows over black glasses. "You know the reason you're grounded in the first place is the fact that you release your aggression in the wrong way. How--,"

"But this is self defense!" Rogue exclaimed, seeing a door close in her face. "Isn't it suppose to teach you ho--,"

"Marie Alder, don't interrupt!" Irene snapped, not at all pleased. "I taught you better than that! I was saying, however, that seeing as your father and sister are helping to instruct in that event, I do believe you'll be under proper supervision."

Rogue had gone very pink. "Oh. I'm sorry, Mom. I should not have tried to speak over you."

"That's better. You may go if you're on your best behavior until then," Irene waved Rogue and John out the door.

Rogue breathed out, "Whew, that was lucky. Irene doesn't usually give second chances after back talk."

"Really?" John asked, shifting his shoulder under the weight of books. "I was surprised you didn't ask about the dance. Seems like people wanted to see you there."

"Nah, it's not my kinda scene," Rogue shrugged. "I usually sit on the edge looking out the window, or something. Anyway, I know I could only get away with one. I didn't even think that it was possible to get away with that, even, if not for the way she's letting me out long enough to visit the institute."

John looked away. "Well, yeah, I guess. But, well, I mean Cody wanted to get to know you better and all."

"And? He can hang with me at lunch, or something," Rogue replied airily.

"What if someone else had wanted to see you at the dance?" John asked innocently. "Like, say, me?"

Rogue turned around, looking at him squarely. "What?"

John's eyes were on the ground. "I was wondering if you actually, you know, wanted to go out sometime?"

Rogue looked at him. What? What kind of day was this? Two people asking her out in one day? That seemed way too weird. And, come to think of it, she didn't even feel any different when John was asking her, than when Cody was trying his sidle-up-and-hope-she-says-yes game. There was, well, John was John, and she didn't think she could really see herself dating him. Still, someone wanted to go out with her, and all she wanted to do was, well, keep things as they were. Did people like Jean feel like this? Probably not. Jean seemed to enjoy it, and Pietro seemed to thrive on attention.

"No."

John looked more surprised than anything else. "No? That's it? No, I actually do like blond football players better? No, I actually am a lesbian? No, I'm secretly madly in love with Scott, and you know it?"

Rogue shrugged, and continued walking. "No. That's just about it. You're my friend, Johnny. Not a date I might go on. So, no. Unless you're inviting the rest of the guys along, no, I'm not interested. I just want to hang, not date or anything like that."

Fingers ran through orange hair, as John tried to figure out what to do next. Oddly, this seemed pretty straight forward. Go home, enjoy dinner, and hang out with the rest of the gang, complaining about Dr. McTaggart's homework policies. This didn't seem to be the right reaction for a guy who had just been dumped. "Well, I guess that's okay. So, I didn't make a total idiot of myself then?"

"Nah," Rogue promised. "But let's hurry. I don't wanna be late getting back, okay?"

"Sure, race you, sheila!"

* * *

So, review if you like. I like reviews.

I'm sorry to the Ryro fans. I've been trying to kill the pairing since it was first pointed out to me that there was a high level of subtext going on (chapter 5, I think was the first review where someone was pleased with the Ryro-ness). They're just friends, and they'll remain just friends. I'm a Romy fan, who isn't totally on-board the crack pairings bandwagon. Also I have real problems with high school aged kids somehow magically knowing how deep their respective relationships might or might not be. Personally, I feel Joss Whedon's cookie-dough metaphor works best for me when it comes to pairing people. Soooo, generally, if you see a pairing in my stories, it won't last, unless the two involved have finished baking. Or it's cannon.

~ MF


	28. Chapter 28: Kurt Ate the Cookies

**Author's Note:** I am not a foster child advocate, and I want to make that clear. I've never been through the training for that, so I decided to leave that section of this chapter blank. For those who do not know what advocacy is, basically, it's the people who answer crisis lines. They are there to tell you your options in a situation that might have gone out of your control, help you do what you decide to, whether it be legal, or medical, or what have you. At its most basic level, advocates listen to what you have to say, and act as a support mechanism whenever you need it. Advocacy is a great thing to do, and I can't recommend going through the proper training to help others enough. I've always seen advocacy as one of the closest things that people can do to being super heroes. I don't want to accidentally mess up the representation of the training that volunteers would have to go through for this kind of advocacy slash mentorship, which might be a hybrid only found in this fic. I do know that the kinds of advocacy I was thinking of when writing this chapter always need more volunteers:

- Child Advocacy

- Mental Health Advocacy

- LGBT Advocacy

- Victims of Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault Advocacy

If there is a chance to do the training in your area, take it, and get involved, if you can.

To my anonymous reviewers: If you want to see what I have to say, head on over to my Profile page. The responses will be removed about a week after I post them. Hope I answered the questions and comments you had.

Finally, this chapter is set-up for future things, in large part. Next chapter, though, Ororo will throw a man around in the middle of a cemetery.

* * *

Kurt stared out the window of Jean's SUV as it pulled into the high school parking lot. It was 4:30. and where was he? Certainly not hanging out with Kitty. Instead he was attending a boring meeting for a community service project, he never meant to do in the first place. Ugh. How'd he get talked into doing this again?

"C'Mon, Kurt, cheer up. Where's the happy guy I know?" Jean asked. "It's just one afternoon. And you can leave whenever you like. Just try to get in the door, okay. It's not like you're going to be doing anything new, otherwise. Please?"

Kurt unbuckled his seat belt, grinning a little at Jean. "Alright. This once. But if Betsy eats all of my snacks while I'm not there, I will not be happy, get that?"

"I promise I'll make you an ice cream waffle in compensation if that happens, all right?" Jean told him.

Kurt pumped his fist. "Alright, SCORE! I'm gonna like this meeting no matter what, then!"

"So I've got the magic touch?" Jean asked, as she walked towards the gymnasium.

"Oh, yeah! You rock," Kurt held out a palm for a high five, which jean returned, before throwing open the doors to the gym.

A group of kids, mainly girls, but there were a few boys, sitting awkwardly apart, and trying not to make eye contact, around a table with punch and cookies.

"Hi, James," Jean waved, as Kurt made a bee-line for the cookies. "Hey Amanda, Taryn. Glad you guys decided to show."

"Oh, so you're the reason I finally have a mixed gender meeting for once," a tall dark man said, as he wheeled in a projector screen. "Hey, everyone, my name is Forge, and I'm the one running this outfit. Ready to have a fun-filled learning experience?"

Jean found herself an attentive seat, and Kurt looked up from stuffing cookies in his mouth. The rest of the teens blinked owlishly at him. Forge nodded, his gotee moving to frame a smile.

"Right, so ninties catch phrases are out! Great! So, anyway, we're here to talk about kids, and how difficult it is to deal with them. So, let's get started."

Kurt looked over at Jean. Was this guy slightly off his rocker, or just generally set at John level of enthusiasm for things that were good causes?

~ ~ ~ ... ~ ~ ~

"So, James, test before we leave: What's the first rule?"

"No hugging without permission," Kittling rattled off, munching a cookie.

Forge swung to Taryn. "Why, Miss Fujiyoka?"

Taryn grimaced. This was possibly the most depressing rule they had covered that day. "Because when people come out of bad, sometimes physically abusive, situations, they won't necessarily be comforted by a hug. In fact, physical contact may make them feel trapped, or back in their former situation."

"Okay, Jean, what about sharing?"

"Well," Jean shifted neatly in her seat to relax the muscles that had fallen asleep, "I've got to remember not every child is as selfish as Kurt with the cookies. But some of them might be, and that's okay."

"Hey!" Kurt exclaimed.

"Cookie to the next person who answers a question," Forge brought out a chocolate chip cookie from behind his back.

"Oh! Me!" Kurt practically leaped from his seat.

"Alright, what's the average airspeed of a coconut-laden swallow?"

Kurt grinned: "African or European?"

"Why I don't know that---Arghhh!" Forge jumped backward, flipping over his own chair, as he tossed the cookie to Kurt.

"How did you know that, Sire?"

Kurt turned in surprise to the shy girl, who continued the joke. She was clearly trying not to giggle. He smiled broadly at her: "Well, you have to know these things when you're a king."

James Kittling clapped, his expression bordering on sarcastic. "Hey, are we done with the _Holy Grail_ references, or are you going to bust out _Spamalot_?"

"We're done, Kittling," Forge assured him. "Although could you and Kurt stay for a moment? Anyway, the rest of you, next meeting on Saturday, and then the final meeting is Tuesday night. You'll be given the names of your mentees by Thursday, and Friday's the first day of fun!"

Jean stood, helping Taryn, as well. "See you at the car, huh, Kurt?"

"Sure," he waved her to go, and walked to Forge.

The older man nodded. "Hey, dude, anyway, I couldn't help but notice for both of you, kids might not be your thing."

James shrugged broad shoulders. "I am interested in advocacy—I thought this was going to just be a foster and adopted children's advocacy training. I didn't realize that it was so hands-on, but you know, I can deal with that."

"You don't have to, though," Forge nodded. "You should come to the meetings if you're interested, but I think I'll put you in contact with a group that focuses more on the advocacy and less on the children. Have you ever heard of CUEAR?"

James nodded, but held up his hands. "Yeah, I have, but I also am on the football team. My captain could be known as Duncan I-beat-fags-with-big-sticks Matthews. I hope I don't have to draw you a picture. Being here was a big stretch for me."

"It's not like that, and you know it," Forge crossed his arms. "Anyway, it's important for them to get people willing to help, either in legal advocacy, or even their crisis line. It's a really good way to do something, and they care more about anonymity than we do, here. I think it might be a good fit for both of you, actually."

"Look, I'll think about it. It's what I want to be doing, but I really don't want to get branded as gay," he sighed. "People hear of that organization and they don't think Campus Unity, Equality, Anonymity and Rescue. They hear: "Queer fags in your schools, so don't bend down when you're getting the soap in the showers." Ugly, but true."

"Oh, c'mon, man," Kurt said, leaning on a chair. He was still trying to get his head around the idea that any one of the football players was even interested in the kind of community service that did not involve becoming leaders of the new nation, or an easy few hours collecting cans for charity. "It's really not that bad. And it's not as though you'd be wearing a sticker on your forehead proclaiming that you were an advocate."

"Hey, it may not seem like there's anything out of place with loving the rest of humanity from your vantage point, Darkholme," James told Kurt, his shoulders pressing forward. "Unfortunately, there is from mine. Thanks for the offer, Mr. Forge. I'll think about it, but don't expect too much."

"I'll give you their number anyway," Forge replied. "They do a drag show each year to help raise money for AIDS testing, which many of your sports teams are encouraged to participate in, I know that much."

"Yeah, Prinicpal Darkholme has a field day every November, bullying us into doing it," James shrugged. "Guess how I know about Duncan Matthews and the reason why you can't be anything less than oozing machismo out your pores."

"My mother's right, you know," Kurt said, shrugging. "It's for a very good cause. And I'll look into it Mr. Forge. I don't want to be a party pooper, but, after what you've said today, I don't think I'd get along very well with some of the kids. I'm just a fun loving guy."

"Well, you do have a bit of a rep," the man acknowledged with a grin. "But don't sell yourself short. Either of you. You'll be surprised what a group of people out to do good can rally accomplish."

Kurt nodded. "Alright, thanks. I'm outta here."

He ran to the parking lot, surprising Jean as she was texting. "Ah! Jeeze, Kurt. You might wanna wear a bell around your neck, or something."

"Heh heh, sorry," Kurt scratched the back of his neck. "Well, ice cream waffles await, right?"

"You bet," Jean smiled, getting into the car. Kurt followed, sticking the card that Forge had given him into his pocket. "So, what did he want to talk to you about, _King Arthur_?"

"Oh, very funny. Just, stuff. I don't think I'll be continuing this training, though. I mean, I like the idea of helping out, but kids are so scary. There's so much that you can get wrong. Mr. Forge just suggested something else I might do instead. It's starting next week, though. You know, next week is gonna be pretty busy for you, isn't it?" he asked Jean, as she reversed out of the parking lot.

"Yeah, but, well, what week isn't?" Jean wanted to know. "I mean, there's the mentee meetings, Soccer practice, and track is starting early this year. I'm not sure I can attend both track and soccer, but I want to try. At least I don't have to go to basket ball try outs because no one from the institute is going to be playing this year."

"But, Jean! Evan is going to be trying out," Kurt protested. "He's our friend, even if he doesn't go to the institute."

"Yeah, but he's your friend, Kurt. I don't really know him that well. And to be fair, the tryouts he promised didn't sound all that promising. I think Betsy's right about the level of violence that we see in sports over here," Jean commented, pulling up at the stop light. She watched the sun sink below the hills for a moment, before pulling forward in the twilight.

Kurt sighed. "Well, okay, I guess. But still, Johnny and I might go. Johnny's probably going to be rooting for Pietro. I was kinda hoping to get him to do more stuff with us, as a group. We don't seem to be very tight, as friends go. I can't remember the last time we watched movies together before last night."

"It was never, Kurt," Jean agreed with a sigh. "I guess you're right. Betsy only put that together with Scott's help for Kitty's sake. Look, if you can get more people than Johnny to go, I'll come and we can do a carpool."

"All right! Score for the guilt trip!"

Jean resisted the urge to push him playfully. "Hey, not funny, Kurt. I've got a lot of stuff to do next week, without even worrying about tryouts for a team I don't know anyone on—I might even have to give up going to the dance on Friday."

"Oh, were you planning to go?" Kurt wiggled his eyebrows.

Jean shook her head slightly, trying to keep her concentration on the road. "Not really. But Taryn and the girls were, so I thought I'd join if I didn't have a lot to do. Sadly, I do have a lot of homework, so I'd better give this one a miss."

"Oh," Kurt nodded. "Well, that's okay. I think most of us are going to be staying in Friday, as well. Pajama party, yeah?"

"Really Kurt?" Jean laughed.

He stretched his arms out. "No, totally. You agreed there wasn't enough Institute unity."

"Yeah, 'cause what we see each morning when we fight over the bathrooms isn't enough," Jean told him playfully.

"Well, if Piotr's cooking, I am so definitely willing to see everyone in whatever they're planning to sleep in," Kurt informed her. "It could be really fun. Think about it, Jean. Us, a bowl of Russian brownies, and our homework. The only thing that's missing is some rocking music."

"And I'm not listening to the _Festering Boils_ again," Jean told Kurt flatly.

Kurt grinned as they swung into the institute grounds. "Heh, yeah, sorry about that. I don't know how my alarm got set for five AM. Huh? Hey, Johnny, whatcha doing?" he yelled out the window at his friend, sitting on the rim of the stone angel fountain, and flicking around with a lighter.

John managed to tear his eyes away from the flame long enough to wave a hand in greeting. As Kurt and Jean climbed out of their car, he stood up, pocketing the lighter. "Hey, sorry, guys. How was your afternoon?"

"Oh, decent," Kurt shrugged. "That Forge guy who's organizing the show is really cool. You'd like him a lot. He can do the African European swallow thing from the _Holy Grail_ perfectly. What'd you do?" he asked, slinging his arm around John's shoulder.

"Nothing much," John shrugged. "You know, went over to Rogue's house, worked on the English project, made a complete fool of myself, and came back. Pretty normal afternoon. Except, you know, for it being freakishly normal. I don't usually have freakishly normal afternoons."

"What, wait, go back. How did you make a fool of yourself?" Kurt asked, letting go of John long enough to go up the Institute steps. "I mean that must have been pretty dramatic if _you_ noticed that you made a fool of yourself."

"Hey," John punched Kurt's arm good-naturedly, "no fair. Nah, I just asked Rogue out, that's all."

"All right, man," Kurt replied, clapping him on the back. "I knew there was something going on between you two."

"Not so much," St. John retorted, rolling his eyes. "I told you. I made a complete fool of myself. I fell all over my own feet, trying to spit it out, without really spitting it out, and then she said no. And y'know, I haven't really been able to figure out how that works for me. Y'know? I can't seem to get worked up the way you should," he shrugged, the light of the foyer glinted off his pale orange hair. "Weird. I would have thought I'd be in some sort of mortal agony by now. But, neah. Nothing. And as long as her friends don't find out about it, I should be fine."

Kurt looked at him. "You know what you need my friend?"

"Lance Alvers repellent?"

"Well, maybe a bit of that, too," he smiled. "But, you need one of Jean's ice cream waffles!"

"Hey," Kitty called from the staircase, "Jean's making ice cream waffles? Really?"

Jean, who had just reached the kitchen, heard the exchange from the hall. "Kurt, I don't want to be making them all night! I thought I was only cooking for you!"

"Yeah, but John's my man, and he's in dire straights!" Kurt yelled back.

John grinned. "So's Kitty!"

"And Betsy," Kitty added as she saw her roommate come downstairs, ears pricked at the sound of "ice cream waffles", and homework in hand.

"Don't forget Piotr," Betsy added. "He's had a long day of being an artist, and therefore must be starving!"

Jean threw open the door of the kitchen. "Well, if you all want ice cream waffles, you'd all better help me, that's all I can say," she told them, tossing a bag of sugar into Kurt's hands.

* * *

So, review if you like. I like reviews. Forge is closer to the comics Forge in age--but not personality. Fun MF trivia fact: Was a total Storm/Forge-shipper back in the day.

~ MF


	29. Chapter 29: Fight in the Cemetery

**Author's Note:** This is possibly one of my more evil chapters. On another note, I can already hear several people asking: Why have anyone say St. John phonetically, when you don't usually bother with it? As a rule I like pointing out that many Americans, and most of those who attend the Institute, would not contract St. John's name properly. Most would just call him Saint John which then gets shortened to John/Johnny/That Weird Orange Freak. However, if St. John is going to introduce himself immediately to someone, they might bother to pronounce his name properly, even over pronounce it, if they were unfamiliar with it. Thus, we actually have a "Sin Jin" right here in this very chapter.

* * *

"So, how's being grounded going?" Exie asked Rogue as the two girls lounged under a tree, waiting for the rest of the instructors and participants to stop making name-cards.

Rogue leaned back, her fingers brushing the moss covering a flat stone inscribed by the initials of the dead. "Well, I got to come here, so it's going better than most of my brushes with Irene's anger."

Exie whistled. "I didn't know that Irene got angry."

Rogue smiled tiredly. "She does. But only with good reason. Oh boy."

Exie followed her gaze, a talk brick wall of a boy was getting out of a car, but there was nothing else happening in the parking lot. "What?"

"That guy is from my school," Marie replied.

Exie gave her a strange look. "Well, yeah. This is a teen outreach program. So's Kurt Darkholme, that Kitty girl your friend Betsy was on about, and a bunch of others. Heck, I saw Lance skulking around somewhere."

"Yeah, but with Cody there's a ton of awkward that gets added into the equa--," Rogue was cut off as Cody saw her, and waved tentatively.

She waved back, which the football player seemed to take as an invitation to come over. "Uh, hi? I didn't think, I'd, uh, see you, here."

"Awkward. Right," Exie commented bluntly.

"Well, I've got family working in this event," Rogue told Cody, hoping that he wouldn't directly talk to Exie. Her sister was not tactful at the best of times. "Uh, this is my half-sister. How are you doing?"

"Oh. Uh, pretty good. Principal Darkholme told me to attend this so, well, I don't repeat Thursday's little fiasco," he stood, looking around nervously. "So, uh, you do martial arts, stuff?"

"Yeah," Rogue nodded, getting up, "I did a bit as a kid, and when I moved up here, I discovered my father taught a bunch of martial arts classes. So, well, I enrolled, and it, well, seemed to help us get to know one another better. You know."

"Wow," Cody smiled, before his head turned. "Hey, is that your dad?" he asked, nodding over to the group of four instructors who were grouped around a cooler. Rogue noticed that his eyes were focusing on the tall, blonde Worthington.

"Nah. He's some guy who Ms. Monroe knows. No, my dad is the short one with the black hair," Rogue pointed. "Next to the guy with the awful haircut."

She glanced up at Cody, quickly, suddenly remembering that he had something very close to the cropped pudding bowl that the fourth instructor sported. "I mean--,"

"No, no, it's okay," Cody grinned, breathing out. "I care about whether my hair fits under a football helmet, not if it looks good. Hey, I think they're starting."

Rogue nodded. "You know, you're not half bad."

"Thanks. You know, well, I was serious when I said I'd like to see you at the dance. Well, actually," he fumbled for words as they moved toward the group that was coalescing around the three men, and Ororo in their white gi. "What I mean is. Dance. Er, no. I mean, with you. I wanted to dance with you."

Rogue looked up at him. "I got that, Cody. But I am still technically grounded for two weeks. This is only happening because my dad and sister are in it. But, you know, maybe if I knew you better, one little dance couldn't hurt me."

"Really?!" Cody beamed.

"If I know you better," Rogue said sharply. "I'm gonna be a bit blunt, but guys like you don't ask girls like me to dance outside of the movies."

"No, no, really, that's great," Cody began, when he felt an unfriendly, muscular arm wrap around his shoulder in a threateningly companionable manner.

Lance smiled at him, trying to ignore the fact that Cody was a little taller, and actually broader across the shoulders. "Hey, Rogue. I don't think I've met your friend."

"Cody, this is Lance," Rogue sighed. Well, she could grow attached to spinsterhood. "He's one of my oldest friends."

"Yeah," Lance was still smiling in a grim way. "Nice to meet you. I haven't seen you around before."

"Could the lovebirds in the back break the hugging session?" Logan's growl was audible over the crowd.

Lance and Cody disentangled very quickly indeed. Lance hoped that his body language stated that if Cody hurt Rogue, Lance could and would rip him apart like the San Andreas fault line. Cody sensed something threatening from Lance, but was not sure what it was about, unless Lance was trying to date Rogue, too. But that didn't seem likely, given the fact that Rogue was, well, notoriously single, and, well, Lance just wasn't her type. Then again, Cody wasn't sure he was either.

Ms. Monroe stood before the students. "Alright, I'm Ororo Monroe, for those who don't know me, already. This is Mr. Warren Worthington, the kind sponsor of this event. The man to my right is Logan Howlett, some of you who have taken day classes at _The Wolverine_ might recognize him. Finally, this is our kind punching bag, Remy. Wave "hi" to the, kids Remy," Ororo stepped aside.

The tall young man tried not to narrow his eyes too much as he waved. "I will get you for this, ma'am," he muttered.

"Consider it part of your debt to society, if you will," Ororo suggested quietly as the blond Mr. Worthington moved to the center stage.

"Okay, so, we'll be working with one of the easiest throws today," Warren began, his voice carrying to the various teens. "This is the hip throw. It you have an attacker rushing at you, it is possible to pull them over you, using your own body as a fulcrum, and toss them over your hip as Ms. Monroe and Remy have kindly decided to demonstrate."

The brown haired man rushed at Ororo. She turned around, affected surprise for a few seconds, and then grabbed his wrists. In the crowd, Rogue winced. If the teacher kept full control over his body like that, the fall was going to hurt.

He hurled over the line of Ororo's body in a controlled throw. The white haired woman let the wrists go at the last second, and the man was able to break his fall less painfully. Getting up, he rolled his eyes. "And now we're going to do this even more slowly," he told the crowd loudly. "Watch Ms. Monroe, here, and try to place your feet the way she is."

Ororo suddenly grabbed an arm, and pulled him forward, across the line of her hip. He crashed head over heels into a roll that allowed him to bounce back upright. Breathing out, he turned around, and rushed right back at the teacher. Rogue nodded seriously to herself, before looking around as she heard a low whistle.

Kitty and the Darkholme boy were standing near by, watching the display. "Like, wow, Ms. Monroe is pretty strong," Kitty commented. "I don't think I could do that with a guy that size."

Rogue shook her head. "It's not that hard, actually. She's using his momentum, I'm more impressed by how she's using the grabs on his wrists. And she keeps her thumb out of the way each time. This is a lady who knows how to grapple."

"Really?" Cody asked.

"Yeah."

Rogue would have elaborated, but Kurt interrupted her with a low whistle. "Wow, I'm impressed by the guy they've got. You need to be really good to pull off the somersault he just did from that angle."

"Really?" Kitty asked, watching as Ororo carefully showed the importance of grip. "It doesn't look that hard."

Kurt shook his head. "Believe me, it is. Whenever I do circus camp I do acrobatics, and I'm not sure I could do it."

Rogue couldn't stop herself. "You get to go to circus camp?"

Kurt grinned, giving her an oblivious thumbs up. "Yeah. I've been doing acrobatics since I was little. My mother insisted. She used to be a great gymnast, you know."

Rogue looked back at the demonstration. "I didn't," she managed to get out between clenched teeth. How could she have known, anyway? It was not as though she was part of his mother's life.

"All right," Warren said. "Everyone think they got that? We'll come and pair you all up. Remember: be careful when you're throwing someone. Remy and Ororo are pros, and they both know how to do this without hurting each other. We'll be watching out for all of you, but this is why we had you sign waivers when you signed up."

Rogue smirked. She could do either the throw or being thrown with ease. Seeing as Mr. Acrobat was so near by, well, she could show him. Marie doubted that the Darkholme boy learned the kind of moves her father had taught her and Exie.

"Hey, Stripes, guess who you're working with?" Rogue turned to look at Logan. From his mocking expression, she wondered if he knew what she'd been thinking.

"You?"

"Bingo. Hey, Blondie, you're working with lover boy," Logan jerked his thumb at Lance, who went beet red.

"Hey!"

Exie put her hand on his shoulder. "Relax, Alvers. He's only ribbing you because he knows you. Just imagine what it would be like being paired with _me_."

Cody looked at Rogue. "You've got some scary folks."

From near by, Lance managed to mutter: "I _like_ my partner just fine, Exie."

The various pairs stepped away from each other, trying to get enough space. Logan barely gave Rogue the space to think, though, when he came at her with a snarl. Training took over. Rogue grabbed his hands, and yanked him hard. He flew over her hip, allowing Rogue to get in a shot with her elbow as he passed under the tucked in arm. Flipping over in mid-air, Logan landed on the grass with his bear feet, and a pained look. "That was low, kid."

Rogue shrugged, trying not to look too contrite. "You're the one who always says that if I want to win against you, I've got to fight dirty."

"Glad to hear that you're listenin' then," he grinned, and launched himself at Rogue.

From the other side of the cemetery plots, Remy looked up from instructing Taryn on how to place her feet, so that her legs naturally slid into the line needed to act as the fulcrum of the throw. "That one knows her stuff, huh?"

Ororo was also watching. "Yes, and I think I'd better relieve Logan before he gets carried away. Or you could."

Rogue jumped over Logan's charge, kicking at the back of his head. The shorter man spun at the last possible second, his arm blocking the incoming leg, causing Rogue to flip backwards. He closed the distance between them with a punch. Gloved hands grabbed his arm, as the girl twisted out of the way, yanking him once more over her hip in the throw she was supposed to be practicing.

"Nah," Remy decided. "I'm good. She'd probably destroy me. Oh, non, non, you! Shades boy, tuck yourself when la belle rouge tosses you. You'll get your neck snapped, mon ami!"

Ororo walked over to the father-daughter pair as Remy taught Scott how to fall properly. "Logan, perhaps I should do this? You can tell me why you feel as though you can just attack my student later."

Rogue stood nervously. "Sorry, Ms. Monroe. Logan taught me how to fight last year."

"And this year, I hope," Logan glared warningly, as he backed off. "You can't hope to get good unless you work at it."

"Of course," Rogue smiled to herself, glad, once again, to be his daughter. There was no cooler dad in the world. "Ahh!"

Ororo had tackled her low. Falling, Rogue rolled away from the weight of her drama teacher. The white haired woman looked at Rogue critically as she got to her feet. "I am sorry, but if you've been training in self defense I thought you'd be ready for that."

Rogue managed to get on her knees. "I expect that kind of thing from him," she jerked her head at Logan, who smirked, before correcting Cody's stance as he threw Lance into the ground. "You're my sweet, lovable drama teacher."

Ororo smiled. "I suppose so. Why don't you pair up with Kurt and Kitty? They seem to be having some trouble."

Rogue looked over, not entirely enthusiastic. Kurt was springing around, turning cartwheels. "Can't catch me!"

Kitty had crossed her arms over her chest. "I am so not going to try, either. Now stop it, and do what we actually came here to do. You're supposed to be tackling me!"

Rogue waited, watching Kurt's movements for a few seconds. As he came up from a cartwheel, she lumped at him, crashing to the grass. "Tut, tut, you're supposed to throw me," she told him, smirking.

"Only if I suspect that you're going to ravish me," Kurt joked, before recoiling from her expression, which was the biggest study in disgusted that he had ever seen. "Alright. It wasn't funny. Let me up please?"

"Darn right, it wasn't funny," Rogue growled, getting off him, only to be tackled by Kitty.

She fell with a grunt, and then shoved the girl off her. "Ugh! What did I do to you?"

"I thought you were supposed to throw me?" Kitty replied innocently. "That hunky blonde guy said we should be switching parts a few moments ago."

Rogue sighed, and got up. "Alright, then, come at me. And try not to hit any grave stones when you go flying, 'kay? Darkholme can go and hang upside down in a tree for a while, or something."

Kurt grinned, before looking over the crowd. "Nah, I think, I see Jean leaving. I'll go give Scott a partner. See you two later?"

He ran over to Scott, who was looking vaguely embarrassed as the tall Remy lectured him about the finer points of falling. "Otherwise," Remy cautioned, "you end up in the mud on your back like a fool."

"Uh, thanks," Scott sighed. "Why don't you go and help, uh, someone else? I think I see my friend coming."

Remy smirked. He knew who he was going to help. The pretty red-head who had gotten tired, and walked back to her car looked like great helping material. Following, he found Red engrossed in a textbook, with an orange haired boy, who was wearing the most blinding assortment of oranges Remy had ever seen. Both seemed at their ease on the hood of a large green SUV. Occasionally Orangy would look at the people practicing hurling each other around, but for the most part he was chewing on a pencil glaring at a notebook.

"You could just go over there and talk to her, again," Jean commented, as a few more seconds elapsed with no sound of furious scribbling.

John tilted his head back to look at Jean upside down, a big grin on his face. "Hey, I'm here for Kurt, today. He got me ice cream waffles, and now I give him moral support, as he learns how to get hit."

"I made those ice cream waffles for you, you know," Jean told him archly. "What are you doing for me?"

"Morally supporting your decision to do homework instead of getting tossed all over the cemetery," he replied quickly.

Jean turned her eyes back to her chemistry text, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You really don't like fighting, do you?"

John shrugged, finally giving his poor pencil a rest by trying to balance the worn thing on the end of his nose. "I like words, and I like staying far away from people who want to hurt me. If there was a way to get at them from far away, sure, I'd take it, but there isn't, so I'll just settle for talkin' myself out of a situation."

"You know," Remy commented, leaning on the car, "you two also could try coming back, and finishing. We've got a lovely afternoon, and lots more to show you. Especially Orange Pants, here."

Jean shook her head, while John lifted his head indignantly. "My name's St. John."

"Well, we all gotta be named something," Remy shrugged. "'M Remy, and this lovely lady was one performing some of the best tosses I'd ever seen. I'm a little curious why y'stopped, chere."

"I have homework," Jean replied. "I told Scott I'd only stay for twenty minutes. Anyway, while it's fun to throw things around, I have to agree with John. I prefer to talk things out."

"So," the Australian asked excitedly, "if, say, there'd been someone throwing all of your tea—friends around out of confusion for some unspecified reason, you'd be the one who'd take on my role, and actually try to help her? Or at least find out why she was so scared?"

Jean looked at John, confused by the entire line of questioning. "What?"

Remy was certain all the words he had heard were English, but he was not certain. "You have a very strange little world to live in, don't you?"

Reaching over, he took the notebook from John's fingers before the orange haired boy could protest. Brown eyes scanned over the page. "Wolverine held up his claws in negligent acknowledgment of the telepathic request.

'Hey, when I give a demo, I give a demo.'

Cyclops looked at the damaged parts strewn all over the room," on the page John had drawn an arrow with a note "need a name for this place." Remy's eyes skipped to it, but he continued to read the story out loud. "'Was that "demo" as in "demolish" or "demonstration"?' he asked, turning to--,"

"Gimme that!" John lunged forward, and toppled from the hood of the car.

Remy looked down at the prone form on the concrete of the parking lot. It raised one tanned arm. "My notebook, if you please? And any shards of my dignity that you happen to see lying around."

Jean put her chin on her hand as she looked down at John. "Was that your project for English?"

"Yeah," John's voice was still muffled by the concrete as he waited for the notebook patiently. After a moment he snapped his fingers.

Remy smirked, tapping the spiral binding of the notebook against his palm. "Nah, this is fun. I wanna see how long you'll keep this up."

"You're not a very nice guy, you know that?" John commented, rising from the concrete.

"I wouldn't be here if I was," Remy replied with a devious smile. "Still, though, you should come to this workshop. We're teaching body blocks, next."

John sighed. "I'll go, if you give the notebook back."

Remy, who'd had no intention of keeping the tatty school supply for long handed it back to John, who relaxed against the grill of the car. Remy raised an eyebrow. "Ain't cha coming?"

Bright blue eyes looked up at him innocently. "I lied."

Remy looked at him, fighting between appreciative approval, and slight annoyance. "Y'know, there's a girl over there that I think you might wanna meet. She likes talking with her fists."

John grinned, figuring that the other man was talking about Rogue. "I've found misnaming trees generally distracts her."

"Even if that wasn't the same girl, that was pretty quick, Sin Jin. Touche; y'got a head on your shoulders," Remy complimented him.

Jean rolled her eyes. "I swear, you two are a pair. Look, Mr.—,"

"LeBeau," Remy supplied, bowing to her.

"LeBeau," Jean continued, "we are fine with just watching, thanks."

"Well, I'll leave you in peace. Anything for a pretty lady, after all," he told her, winking.

Jean laughed. "Nice try. But I already have a boyfriend."

Remy shrugged, and turned to leave. He could hear from behind him John begin: "So, that thing with you and Duncan?"

"We've been talking. I was supposed to go to the dance with him on Friday, but well, Kurt's pajama party changed my plans," Jean's voice carried on the breeze.

Remy smiled. High school drama, thank goodness he'd gotten out of _that_ early.

* * *

Did I just introduce Remy at the same time as making the Rogue/Cody relationship bloom, and pointing out that Johnny's not quite as over her as he'd like to think? Yes. So, review if you like. I like reviews.

~ MF


	30. Chapter 30: Jeep Weekend

**Author's Note:** Yay, for the B-Hood!

* * *

Lance groaned, feeling his shoulder, as he walked along with Marie. "Wow, when'd you learn how to kick like that?"

Rogue shrugged. "Well, remember when I kinda flailed and died when I tried to ask Scott out last year? You guys weren't the only people who helped out that winter. Logan and Exie gave me a ton of sessions with punching bags and stuff."

Lance winced. "As if I needed reminding who the scary people I work for were. You know, I could still beat the crap out of Scott, if you want?"

Gray eyes gave him a clear "no," as Rogue sighed. "This again? Look, I don't need you hovering over my life. And don't think that I didn't remember that thing with Cody. Try that again, and I _will_ hurt you, Alvers. Jeeze, I don't try to pound you into the ground just because you moon after Kitty."

"I can't help it," Lance shrugged. "I don't know him, and you're like teak, I know, but you let things get under your skin, and then I've got a best friend who is a simmering time bomb for months. I like to be—what's the word?"

"Interfering?" Rogue suggested.

"Proactive," Lance shot her a dirty look, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Preemptive, more like," Rogue muttered. "I'll see you at school on Monday, okay? I gotta go home."

"Sure," Lance nodded.

They parted, Rogue running purposefully toward her house, and Lance ambling along toward the backs. He'd rather just hang out for a while until things got easier. And his shoulder stopped throbbing. Definitely until his shoulder stopped throbbing. Although, if no one else was at The Backs, then he was probably going to work on the Jeep, which while fun, almost always meant that something heavy and metallic fell on his face.

Today, however, the Jeep was covered under a drift of leaves, and Todd was on the steps of the house, listening to his music far too loudly.

"Man," Lance complained, beginning to pull the leaves off. "You could at least try to help, you know."

"Help with what, yo?" Todd turned down the volume slightly. "It's not as though you're ever gonna get that hunk of junk running."

"Hey, I can at least try, you know. It's something to hope for," Lance muttered, sweeping the driver's seat with an impatient hand. "Seen any of the other guys around?"

Todd cleaned his ear with a finger, and inspected the yellow contents critically, before flicking it away. "Fred said he was going to try to get into the locked room on the second floor again. Swear it's made out of titanium, or somethin'."

Lance grunted. "Not like anything interesting is going to be in there, anyway. This place is trashed."

"Never know," Todd was more optimistic, "could be a jeweled stash of goodies. Like in _Arabian Nights_ or something."

"You wish," Lance commented, standing back from the Jeep. "Man, I'm gonna have to find a tarp somewhere. Can't believe I spent all spring cleaning out the squirrels nests only to have to do it all over again."

Todd spit at a cricket swinging on a grass stem. Lance knew he shouldn't have been amazed when the glob of phlegm and mucus knocked the cricket out at the first shot, but still, for such a disgusting talent, it was still pretty impressive.

"Do you have to do that every time I'm thinking about lunch?" Fred asked, coming out the door, rubbing a bruised arm.

Todd looked up. "Dude, when are you not thinking about lunch?"

Lance leaned against the hood of the jeep, one knee sticking through the hole in his jeans. "So, you guys got any plans? I haven't seen 'Tro."

"He's been stuck doing community service around the school," Fred replied. "Darkholme put him on the project for the fight."

Lance rolled his eyes. "Brilliant. So when he does get here, he'll be irritated and late. Why didn't you get any community service?"

Fred looked at him darkly. "I did. I'm now on the stage crew for the stupid rock musical that dweeb Jason is putting on. And off the wrestling team."

Lance winced. He was glad that he did not participate in any kind of school sport. It seemed like a great way to get manipulated into a bad position when an administration decided to exert power. "That bites."

"The worst of it? Kittling and Rutherford get to go to a few after school sessions of stuff, and then they're back to real life."

"Yeah, I saw Rutherford at the self defense workshop, thing," Lance replied.

Todd, eying a beetle trundling along looked up at Fred. "Whoa man, what about Matthews? Please tell me he got something."

"He's helping Pietro. Apparently painting on Saturdays doesn't interfere with football practice," Fred shrugged. "I mean, way more than I was expecting he'd get, actually. Then, again, Russovitch and Essex got into a fight, or something, and so Russovitch hasn't been there to yell the case for the rest of the teams."

Lance and Todd looked at once another. "Dr. Essex took down Mr. Russovitch? Y'know man," Todd said very quietly, "if he ever finds out that it was us who did that graffiti--,"

Lance made a face. "I don't ever want to be on the wrong end of that guy. Ever."

"Uh-huh. Soooo," Todd commented. "Puppies! Happy thoughts! Ooh! I know. Guess what a little bird said when you got in trouble Fred?"

The Texan looked confused, as Todd grinned up at him with happy innocence. "Uhhhh?"

"Jean said she hoped that you didn't get in trouble with Darkholme. I think she's finally noticing you, pal," Todd raised his hand for a high five.

Fred returned the palm slap with gusto. "All right! Man, this is great. You mean, she knows my name and everything?"

"Yep," Todd told him.

Lance rolled his eyes. "Glad to know that the one sided crush has a basis in reality," he commented darkly. "Got anything else to tell us? Has Johnny-boy become the idol of some cute nerdy thing so they can make dorksome babies together?"

Todd spat some phlegm on a piece of broken glass. "Hey, what's with the attitude? I'm just the messenger, yo."

"Nothing," Lance moodily kicked a tire on the Jeep with a swinging heel as he let his leg drop to the ground once more.

The two other members of their little band looked at each other. Nothing? Yeah, right. Still, did anyone really want to get launched into a Lance rant?

"Lemme guess, a certain Kitty-cat isn't giving you enough sugar," of course Pietro—who had appeared out of nowhere with only a slight heaving of his chest to show that he had been running—would want to launch the rant.

Fred face palmed, while Todd groaned. Wonderful.

"Shut up, Pietro," Lance growled. "It's none of your business. Kitty was at the self-defense thing with Exie and Rogue, and when I tried to speak with her, she acted as though I wasn't there!"

"Oh, poor baby," Pietro smirked.

"And _then_," Lance continued, not noticing the blatant sarcasm, "that huge artsy Russian shows up, and she just runs to hug him! I can't believe it! When has he ever been there for her! He'll be gone in a few months."

"And then if you've cleaned yourself up, have decent grades, and discover a sensitive side that involves more _Barry Manilow_ than _Slipknot_ you might have a chance," Pietro's digs did hit home more than his sarcasm.

Lance looked up, and deflated. "You really think so?"

"Your bad luck is that the X-Kid happens to fit Pryde's idea of a perfect man. You're a scruffy knock off in comparison. The perfect girls want their men to change to fit them," Pietro shrugged. "That's why I prefer the kind that chase after you."

Todd, who had no hope if Pietro's theory rang true, squeegeed his ear for wax, and shook his head. "That's awfully cynical, yo."

Pietro grinned at his shorter friend. "Which one of us has seen the backside of a date, again?"

"That's low, man," Todd complained.

Fred, who was still thinking over the information that Todd had given him, looked up. "Do you think that Jean would like flowers?"

Lance raised an eyebrow. "That's—a little too forward, Fred."

"Yeah. Just say thanks, or something," Todd commented. "Or, y'know, ignore it. She's one of those people that cares about everybody."

Fred sighed. "I know, that's what makes her perfect."

Pietro waved away the clouds of idealism. "Whatever. Hey, Todd, you know anything about that spinach head art student?"

"Crystal?" Todd asked. "She likes really pretentious Indie bands, and tells me to turn down the rap music when me and the guys are hanging in the art hall after school. Why?"

Leaning against the fence, Pietro kicked at a rusty can. "She's pretty cute, and I wanna see if chatting her up will get her to shut up about composition and artistic vision. If I'm going to be stuck dealing with her attitude and Matthews for another month I'll go awol."

"I think she's dating some guy in my automotive class," Lance replied. "At least she hangs outside and then walks with Whitman to their next class."

Pietro looked thoughtful. "Well, one plan on the back burner, then. Hey, where's Rogue?"

"Grounded, remember?" Todd told him.

Lance turned to get back to work on the Jeep. "Hey, guys, can you think of a way to get a few parts I'll need?"

"_This_ is our weekend project?" Pietro whisked over to kick a tire. "I could be practicing for tryouts."

Lance turned a glare on his lanky friend. The Jeep may not have been a glamorous project, but it was still his. He'd help out Pietro with stuff, and he knew that neither Todd or Fred was going to complain. And if he actually could get it running, Pietro would get wheels, which they knew his parents could not afford, otherwise. Making sure that Pietro knew how annoyed the statement had made him, Lance turned back to the Jeep in disgust.

"Eh, suppose it's better than homework," Pietro relented.

* * *

So, review if you like. I like reviews.

~ MF


	31. Chapter 31: Metal Crush

**Author's Note:** Yay, for the B-Hood! Part Two!

* * *

Monday mornings were always bad in Lance Alvers' world. For one thing, Mr. Cassidy was almost always fighting a hang over. Which meant that his temper was shorter, and Lance, while rarely on the wrong end of it, had to tiptoe around more quietly than normal. While he and his Metallica favoring buddies hung around and drunk coffee before school, he always had to worry about running into an irate Rogue (this was not her time of day, any day of the week, but Mondays were always bad), or an overly malicious Pietro, or both together which was a nightmare. And this year there was John to worry about.

"Can I have some of your coffee, please?"

Lance pulled the Styrofoam cup away from John. "No! For the last time, get your own!"

John looked sad. "But Betsy said I wasn't to have any at the mansion after the Crown Waffles experiment on Sunday—,"

"Betsy's a wise girl," Lance commented darkly.

The Aussie continued undeterred. "_And_ you got me my first cup. You're my pusher, man. Now gimme my fix. Please? I'll write love sonnets you could give to Kitty!"

"Nice try, De Bergerac," Lance replied sourly. "But no."

John looked astonished. Lance interpreted the look correctly, and waved his copy of the required play. "I actually did my homework for once. Don't drop dead from surprise."

"Um, actually, we're not reading that until October, Lance," John commented. "Didn't you get the sheet Ms. Monroe handed out in class on Thursday?"

"Yeah! And it said we were supposed to read this for Monday."

John sighed. "Look at the top of that schedule, mate. There's big, bold, word art telling you those assignments are for October. _Cyrano De Bergerac_ is due Monday the 12th not Monday the 19th."

"What?!" Lance scowled and fished in his backpack for his schedule. John smirked, and was about to steal his coffee when Lance yanked it out of his hand. "Not so fast, kangaroo. Now, what was I supposed to have read—_Henry the Fifth_?"

"Not all of it," John assured him. "Just the scene that you're signed up to do as a group. See, you're with Rogue. Hey, Monroe does have _Cyrano_ on here. Scott and Pietro are supposed to be doing a scene. Wonder how that'll go?"

Lance tried not to think about it. His brain might have exploded from evil glee at the thought of Scott opposite Pietro for anything. Sergeant Summers wouldn't know what hit him. "Ah well, I'll just have to explain my mistake to Ms. Monroe. She'll be pretty lenient, I think."

"Probably," John agreed, walking with Lance down the hall, trying to look as natural as possible.

He was still dreading the fact that Lance might have some special telepathy powers, and swing around to say: "You were the one who tried to date Rogue! Diediediedie!" Well, that sounded more like Pietro, but still, it was in his fears dernit!

Speaking of Pietro, his voice suddenly called out from the end of the hall: "Hey, why don't you make me, _Evan_?"

The skateboarder shoved Pietro into the lockers. "I know you did it, Maximoff! Now gimme back my wallet."

"This little thing?" Pietro ducked under Evan's arms, and held out the brown cloth as he came up behind the skateboarder. "I found it lying on the ground. Maybe you just have a hole in your pants."

Evan growled as he snatched it back, leaving Pietro to smirk. "Let the try-out week games begin, Daniels."

"Oh, believe me, you're so on!" Evan snarled, stalking off.

Lance walked up to Pietro. "This again? Do I have to hit you?"

"Not on the first date," Pietro joked, ducking the expected cuff to the ear.

John gave him a thumbs up. "Nice reaction times, dude. So, I'm planning on ditching homeroom before heading to English. What are you two doing?"

"Well," Lance sighed. "I'm going to get to Cassidy's room and see if I can finish reading my part in _Richard the Fifth_ before class starts."

"I read your scene when I was bored," Pietro smirked. "Let's just say that if you try to say those lines opposite Rogue, you're going to have problems keeping a straight face."

Lance winced. "Maybe I'll get lucky, and Ms. Monroe will have pity on me."

"Not a chance man," Pietro slapped him on the back. "It's tryout week. With Evan whining every five minutes, Ms. Monroe wants to fry us all."

Lance glared at him. "You know, as the root of all my problems, I hate you so _very_ much."

"Eh," Pietro shrugged, following Lance and John down a side hallway with nothing better to do.

It did not seem, however, that today was not a good, happy hallway day. The small gang managed to get a glimpse of Duncan and Jean walking down, before Fred obscured the view with a nervous wave, and an "Oh, Jean—,"

Matthews was between them before Fred could say anything more. "Hey, freak boy, I think the carnival was looking for a fat-man. Why don't you go there?"

"Duncan!" Jean yelled in outrage.

Fred did more than yell: "Oh yeah? Well, well, take this!"

His meaty fist caught Duncan in the jaw, knocking him back. John dropped behind Pietro and Lance, not wanting to get involved, while the boys sprinted to the location. Matthews was already charging when Jean shouted again: "Stop it!"

This had little effect, and Duncan's fist managed to glance off Fred's chest. Fred went for Duncan's stomach this time, and again gained some space between the two. He took a step forward, about to follow up, when Rogue's black gloved hand stopped him. Jean had physically grabbed Duncan about the waist, and was trying to pull him away.

"Fred, y'want to get in trouble with Darkholme again?! And you, Matthews, you're planning on getting kicked off the team? 'Cause that's all I can see happening, if y'all continue this!" Rogue yelled.

Jean agreed, adding: "All Fred was doing was saying 'hi' Duncan. Jeeze."

"He threw me across the hall, Jean!" Duncan yelled.

Her green eyes narrowed angrily. "You were oh-so-innocent, and didn't provoke him at all, did you?"

"Hey, so you see my point."

"_Hardly_ Duncan," Jean growled, letting go of her semi-boyfriend, seeing that he wasn't about to get into another fight with Fred Dukes.

She stalked off. Duncan scowled at Fred, and then followed, trying to figure out whether this was PMS, or Jean having one of her mysterious issues. They generally cleared up soon enough. However, Jean was going to be snippy until she got over it.

Fred looked after Jean longingly, before seeing Rogue. "Oh, hey, sorry, Rogue. Thanks, kinda lost it, I guess."

"So I saw, you lug. Lucky I was running late today, huh," she grinned. "Well, that was a good start to Monday. See you," she waved and ran to get to homeroom.

The group of boys followed her with their heads, and then turned back to each other. "Is it just me, or was Rogue cheerful before ten?" Lance suggested cautiously.

"Alice, we've gone down the rabbit-hole," Pietro declared.

"Oh, but if Lance is Alice, that makes one of us the rabbit," John complained.

Pietro smirked, as a fuming Lance stalked towards the autobody class. "And Rogue's the Queen of Hearts. Just wait, she'll get angry and the next thing you know, all our heads will be rolling on the ground."

"Nah," John rushed to catch up with Lance. "I think this is the looking glass world. Everything is reflected and weird."

"Does this mean Rogue is going to be grumpy late at night, now?" Fred asked, trying to keep up.

John nodded. Lance stomped into his class room, nearly stepping on Scott's foot, as he flung himself at a work bench.

"Hey, watch it," Summers yelled.

Lance shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, I needed to get away from the loony bin on my tail."

Scott peered around the door, just as Dale finished tongue wrestling with his girlfriend in the nook across the way. "Hey, Whitman, knock it off, will you?"

The self-professed lover of all things metal, finally managed to extract his lip ring from Crystal's happy nibbling. "Hey, elemental goddess girl," he grinned, "the man is trying to enforce the no PDA rules. Should we fight him?"

"Mmm, sounds fun, but," Crystal fiddled with the piercing that stapled through the back of his neck, "I have to get to APUSH. See you second period?"

They let each other go, with much reluctance. John watched Dale walk back into the classroom with a lot of skepticism. "I don't think I could deal with that many holes in my head."

"Only because you have that gaping one where your brain is supposed to be," Pietro teased, watching the cropped green haircut strut around the corner. "Who would have thought that such a tight assed indie wannabe was so—?"

Fred looked at Pietro without encouragement. "Dude, none of us are gonna help you out when that guy finishes beating you around the block."

"What makes you say that?" Pietro asked.

"I think one of his biceps was bigger than my head?" John suggested.

Pietro waved his hand in annoyance. "Whatever. Say, you gonna come see the tryouts on Thursday?"

"Well, of course," Fred commented. "Johnny, you wanna come to the Backs with us after school, today?"

Johnny shrugged. He didn't have anything better to do, after all.

* * *

I think this is the most graphic scene I've ever written outside of _Break Down_. I'm having too much fun with this off camera Pietro/Crystal thing. If you like it, or want to tell me to go stick my head in a cold pail of water, I'd like to hear from you, so review. Anyway, _Mutant Crush_ is making its slow way up the slope of my plot. Is the pacing working?

~ MF


	32. Chapter 32: Four Beers

**Author's Note:** Yay, for the Acolyte! Heh. Anyway, for those who were worried, I am NOT replacing SSP with Gemini Winter. I wasn't aware that GW was going to be anything more than a one-shot, but both Greenhaze and Artemi have prodded plot bunnies. I'm not sure that I like the fact that they are multiplying, but multiplying they are, so I'll go along with the ride. There might be more GW chapters in the next few weeks, although I do want to publish my one shot "For Science!" at some point. Meh.

* * *

Ororo pinched the bridge of her nose, and looked again at the practicing groups. Lance and Rogue were snickering at each other. If anyone was going to believe that those two were in love, it would take a powerful imagination and possibly some ear plugs. John seemed to be taking his part in _The Importance of Being Ernest_ fairly well, but his partner, Fred, was not so successful. Libby was making a great impression as a Victorian matron, but that was to be expected. However, the real problem was right in front of her.

"Scott, Pietro, just _stop_, please."

"Sorry, Ms. Monroe," Scott sighed. "I read the wrong play. I didn't think we were getting to _Cyrano De Bergerac_ until October."

"Still, even taking into account that this is a cold read, I am convinced that Christian is running intellectual circles around Cyrano. Pietro, I want you to stop ad libbing, and mocking Scott's part before he can say his lines."

Pietro tried to turn large, innocent eyes on Ms. Monroe. "But, ma'am, I think Rostand just got it wrong. The pretty boy with the heart of gold is the true hero of this play."

Ororo put her hands on her hips. "Well, Mr. Heart-of-Gold, try to get used to the fact that you're playing the brave, but stupid character. Scott, which plays did you read?"

"Well, all of the packet you gave us," he replied, having wanted to get a head, and know what everyone was going to be doing. Plus, the packet had been a better read than his math homework for that weekend by a long shot.

The white haired teacher smiled. "Perfect, then. Lance! You come here, and play Cyrano, Scott will take your part in _Henry the Fifth_."

Scott shrugged, picking up his back pack to move to Rogue's table. Lance looked less happy with the arrangement. True, he actually had read this part, but the cheesy Shakespearean pick-up lines weren't as hilarious coming from Scott's mouth. Rogue might take them seriously.

Still, it was fun working with Pietro for the rest of the period. Ms. Monroe had to remind them several times that they were two men in the middle of a battle field, and Pietro's character was about to die, so if they could stop hamming it up, that would be nice. She also discovered that John seemed to have lost his focus as the second half of class lagged on. That was unpleasant to discover, as he had been doing a stellar job being a sexually ambiguous Victorian gentleman up to that point. Ororo had seen a certain chemistry teacher do better at the faculty play last year, but John was doing very well for someone who did not have the advantage of having had his sense of humor crystallized at 1902.

"No, Scott! The line is "An angel is like you, Kate, and you like an angel!" Rogue yelled, signaling the end of the class. "Not: Kate, you are like an angel."

"And with that rousing instruction on wooing, please remember that you are presenting on Wednesday and Friday," Ms. Monroe called. "Mr. Maximoff, a word please?"

"About what, teach?" Pietro asked, as Lance headed for the door.

Ororo folded up plays and put them in her bag. "I know what week it is. I want you and Evan to leave the silly string alone. Do you understand? And the eggs. Nothing with eggs."

"Aww, some of those are the best things to play with, ever."

Lance rolled his eyes. He had to get to work. It was easy enough to catch up with John and Rogue, who were joking through the hall.

"Hey, your majesty will mock me. I cannot speak your England," Lance grinned over Rogue's shoulder, as John made room for him. "Scott doesn't make a better king than I do, does he?"

"Well, he's certainly easier on the eyes," Rogue told him teasingly. "Look, gotta go. John, I think I've got something on my chapter. Are you done with yours?"

"Mostly," he grinned. "By the way, R is now convinced that the good guys tried to kill her."

"Yeah, that's gonna go over well," Rogue commented sarcastically.

John shrugged. "Hey, when you've got an evil shapeshifter, why not use her? Besides, it then makes the character more likely to go over to the dark and icky side, right?"

"You've been hanging around Kitty a lot more," Rogue commented.

John shrugged. "Kurt, really. He and Kitty have a weird thing going on."

"Really?" Lance asked, feeling worried. "Man, how long is the line?"

John started ticking his fingers. "Piotr, Kurt, you, her friend Doug—but don't, actually, never mind. Anyway, Kitty's making her preference clear."

Lance gave him a look. "Tall, dark, and Russian?"

"You bet," John told him. "Hey, on the bright side you could still have an ambiguous relationship with a sword wielding warrior-stranger from distant stars in one of Rogue's universes." [1]

The look became more pronounced. "And the universe you're living in?"

"A beautiful one filled with fire," John sighed.

"Right, dork wad," Lance told him affectionately. "I'll see you at school tomorrow. Unless your sister kills me," he nodded toward Rogue, before running down the street.

He was late, Exie informed him as he fumbled with the keys to _The Wolverine_. Lance started involuntarily, and turned to glare at her. "Where did you come from?!"

"I'm like God. I'm everywhere," Exie deadpanned, hefting a large box under one hip. "Open it up, will you?"

"Santa, too," Lance told her, jokingly, as he opened the door.

Exie just gave him a long brown eyed stare. She went into the bar ahead of Lance. He sighed following her. Some days he just couldn't win. Actually, most days he couldn't win, Lance realized, as Exie held out a mop.

Lance was stuck cleaning things until customers started to arrive. He was then sent back and forth to the back room fast enough to make him think that Exie was taking revenge by wearing through the soles of his shoes. He only stopped when shock rooted him at the soor of the storage room. Ms. Monroe, wearing way too much leather (again), was sitting at the bar, chatting with Logan.

"So, Forge has been telling me that I should give up the more fun self-dense for helping him organize the sixteen community service projects that he has taken on," Ororo told Logan as she played with her beer glass. "He hasn't been trying to get you?"

"He got to one of my daughters last year," the man replied gruffly. "Welcome to her, if it'll keep her out of teen angst."

"But not you," Ororo pushed.

"Hey, if I was into caring for people, I'd go out and do it. I'm into running a bar, instead," Logan told her.

Ororo looked at him, hopefully. "And refilling my beer?"

"Hey, this isn't a free service, you know."

"Put it on my tab," Ororo told him, looking over her shoulder, and waving Warren over. He looked out of place among the cops and ex-soldiers. "Hey, my angel, come fall down here with the rest of us."

Warren adjusted his tie nervously, as he sat down. "Logan, what she's having. So, have you given any thought to next Saturday?"

"Yeah: don't let Gumbo anywhere near the female students. He slipped off to flirt with some in the middle of the day," the owner of the _Wolverine_, and defensive father growled.

"Now, now, I'm not that bad," the brown haired Cajun slipped into the seat next to Warren.

Ororo chuckled. "Do I even want to ask where you came from?"

"Sailed in on a dream, chere."

Warren raised a blond eyebrow. "We all know you're a good thief, Remy. None of us would have the pleasure of your company, otherwise. You don't need to impress us."

"But it's so much fun. Anyway, the petit gets all twitchy when I'm around, and that's fun to watch."

"Knock it off, Gumbo," Logan growled. "We all know that there isn't anything here you'd consider worth stealing."

Remy made a great show of looking around. "Dunno. Can I pay for my drink with what I emptied from Warren's pockets?"

The blond businessman put his head in his hands. "Sure. I'm beginning to think it was sheer luck that let me catch you."

The Cajun's brown eyes sparkled with a smug smile. "It's the only lady I can't win every time. Anyway, I like this better. It makes a nice change of pace."

"Oh?" Ororo asked. "So you don't mind having Forge as a roommate? I've heard that his tinkering can get on the nerves."

Remy tossed back his pint. "He puts up with me snoring at two PM, I'll put up with him getting' inspired at three AM. 'Sides, the car engine that runs on the color blue, and cleans your laundry while idling sounds interesting."

Logan looked at him. The Cajun sounded serious, and what he knew of Forge, that wasn't far from the mark. Slowly polishing a beer glass, he turned to Ororo. "And you're still trying to convince me that Forge is as sane as I am?"

"Sane as da Vinci, then," Ororo shrugged. "It's not as though half of his devices work."

"It's the half that do that terrify the little yellow boots offa me," Logan countered. "Hey, Rocker Boy! We're running out of peanuts!"

Lance ran over, and was refilling peanut bowls when Ororo began her rant against Evan v. Pietro round one million.

"It seems as though they've been fighting ever since they were babies, which I don't understand, as Pietro has one year of more maturity."

Logan looked at her unsympathetically. "Let me ask you this: Up until the time Evan turned nine he was the center of your life. Then, the next time he comes over, you pull out this stringy kid, and tell Evan to play nice because he'll be living next door to his auntie from now on. Conversely, the first person who doesn't treat the Maximoff kid as though he's made of broken glass after the fire and everything is you, and suddenly there's this brat claiming all of that attention for himself. Now why wouldn't there be a problem?"

Ororo raised an eyebrow. "When you put it like that that, Logan, everything makes so much sense. But this isn't a simple issue of jealousy. They like the same things, they're on the same sports teams for the most part, and they can get along. I want to know why this week out of all of the weeks out there suddenly means that they've got to forget that they're civilized human beings."

"It's fun?" Lance suggested nervously, and all of the adults rounded on him.

Ororo seemed to be taken-a-back. "Aren't you a little young to work in this establishment?"

"I got that covered, 'Ro," Logan growled. "Alvers, get back to the store room."

Remy tried to tip back on his bar stool. "Oh, bribery and patronage, where would we be without you?"

"Shut it, Cajun."

"Oui, mon capitan," Remy managed a negligent salute in Logan's direction.

Warren cleared his throat. "Ororo, you're still helping with the girl's case, right? Charles had to cancel our last meeting, and I need to get back to my real business. Not that localized philanthropy isn't fun, but I do have profits to worry about."

The white haired woman nodded. "Who do you think takes the little headache there every second Saturday? Anyway, is there anything I should know?"

"Yes. I got in contact with the lawyer. Nice guy, Mr. Murdock. Anyway, he said that Mr. Lensherr had decided to come up for the newest court date. Of course, Harkness is going to defer making her decision, you know, but she's been leaning towards Charles' side of the case, and Lensherr doesn't want to let an opportunity slip through his fingers. I know Professor Xavier has probably been alerted to this reality by Murdock himself, but I want to make certain he's ready to deal with his old friend on this subject."

"Hooo boy," Logan breathed out. "This is gonna go wrong. I can feel it."

Lance, still listening from the store room, was confused. However, he did not intend to stay confused for long.

* * *

[1] - Reference to the Rictor/Shatterstar relationship from the comics. Lance's character is (I would like to think, at least) an amalgam of the 616 Avalanche and the former New Mutants/X-Force member Rictor.

Any thoughts about where this little plot arc might be going? Muhahahaha. I might answer. I might not...

Also, I'm desperate for a beta (those who keep up with my profile will know why). If anyone is into being a content beta, I'd like to hear from them.

~ MF


	33. Chapter 33: Fighting Words

**Author's Note:** Wow, I have a lot of Mutant Crush down here. There's a lot of crush in general. We'll see how things progress. I do not advocate bonking 2-dimensional characters on the head with cafeteria trays. This must be made clear. I'm certain that there some organization like PETA out there for the Duncan Matthews of this world, and I want to make it clear that I'm not committing author hate on his character.

* * *

Tuesday was also not the best of days. Lance was not certain, but he was getting the feeling that Essex could read minds, and he knew that Lance had been responsible for the graffiti. Chemistry was an agony of sitting far from Kitty, and feeling terrified each time Essex's cold eyes hit Lance. The building nerves found no outlet, and Lance was incapable of concentrating on the lecture, and the worksheet activity. Thank goodness they weren't working in lab today.

When the bell rang, Lance managed to leave with Todd in tow. They both leaned against the nearest pair of lockers, ignoring the construction paper hearts that decorated both lockers. Instead of announcing someone's sweet sixteen, they declared that the owner of the locker was "the best locker buddy, ever!" but to the two boys this mattered little.

"So, ever get the feeling that Essex is slowly scooping your brains while he's looking at you?" Lance asked.

"Oh, good, I really needed to add that to the list of gruesome mental images that I had," Todd whined. "Essex and the brain spoon. Does that mean that he's secretly Egyptian?"

Rogue, walking to her journalism class, saw the two loitering, and waved. "Hey, guys. Who's Egyptian?"

"Essex."

Looking at the door of the class room, Rogue considered the option. "Nah. He's probably the servant of some mummy."

Todd and Lance exchanged looks. "He doesn't seem to be the servant type."

"But doesn't that make him way less intimidating to think about?" Rogue pointed out. "Fine, he's a servant using his Egyptian master for his own ends, with intent to betray him. I gotta get to class. See you guys at lunch?"

"Sure," Lance promised, before thinking of something: "Have you seen Pietro?"

Rogue shook her head. "Should I have? I don't share any class but drama with him. See you later."

She ran down the hallway, leaving Todd confused. "Yo, Lance, is there something going on?"

Lance shrugged violently. He didn't particularly want to get to history class, anyway. "Wanna take a walk?"

"Sure. I've only got Geometry, and that's dull," Todd kicked at a small ball of paper as he thrust his hands in his pockets. "So, what's up?"

Lance was not certain where to begin. "Well, I was at work when Ms. Monroe came in with a bunch of friends. Remember when she came by the Backs looking for Pietro? Well, she was talking about something _weird_ to do with 'Tro, a girl, a court case, and that snobby job who runs the X-Geek school."

"Huh," Todd replied thoughtfully. "Oh! I know! It's all about a secret twin sister who was locked away in a hospital because she was an uncontrollable witch, and now she's broken out, and is planning on hunting down Pietro for revenge!"

"You have been hanging around Rogue waaaaaaay too much," Lance decided after a shocked moment.

They continued out of the school, ambling as they discussed the possibilities. Todd did not seem to be able to take the situation seriously. Lance half wondered if his froggish friend was just trying to distract him. He realized that it was treading closely onto the grounds of "personal," but the entire situation seemed to be, well, just weird, and Lance wanted answers.

They made it back in time for lunch. Rogue met up with them, food already on her tray. "Got us a place to sit?"

Todd pointed to a corner table, as Lance reached out an arm. "Hey, Pietro, been looking for you. Wanna sit with us?"

Pietro looked slightly irritated. He twisted out of Lance's grip fast enough, intent on telling his friend off, and then sitting with his fan club. However, quick blue eyes saw Salad-head in the corner near where the fan club usually sat, lip locked with her metal head boyfriend. Hearing someone suck on a lip ring was not going to help him keep his food down.

"Whatever Alvers. Sure. Not like I'm really planning on doing anything. Hey, wanna hear what happened to—well, you'll hear soon enough."

Rogue slid into her seat. "Please tell me you didn't dye Evan's hair pink."

The grin on the pale boy's face was worth a thousand malicious words. "Not his hair, and I didn't use dye, per se."

The three others looked at one another, and collectively smacked themselves with their hands. That was not a good sign. They all wondered how long it would take Ms. Monroe to come up with a list of forbidden products for this little week. Admittedly, there was only one year left. But still, coloring agents should be off limits.

"So, Pietro, I heard your name come up in an interesting conversation," Lance began.

Pietro examined immaculate nails with self indulgent vanity. "Naturally. I'm an interesting person."

Lance nodded. "Uh-huh. A man of many hidden depths, it turns out. I didn't know you had anything to do with the old bald guy up at the school of genius, for example."

Pietro's face might have drained of color. It was hard to tell. While he could blush impressively, that rarely happened, and his complexion was well suited to hiding unpleasant surprise. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Is there something going on that we should know about. With a court case?"

Pietro's expression closed like stage curtains on the final act. Then his face lit up with a devious smirk. "Hey, Daniels," he called over Lance's shoulder. "Have to say, major props for the bravery on the skateboard. It takes guts to publicly announce and interest in _Barbie_ dolls like that."

Evan dropped his tray on the nearest table. John, who had nearly had his hand crushed by the angry gesture, scooted back his chair. "Steady on."

Kitty and Jean, who were just next to him, stopped talking with one another, and looked up at Evan. "Um, Kurt, like isn't here yet," Kitty began nervously, seeing Evan shaking with anger.

"I know you did it, Maximoff!" Evan shouted, gaining the attention of the student body. "You have any idea how long it took to get all of those stickers off?"

"Not really. And I don't care," Pietro shrugged easily. "As for "doing it" can't prove it was me, can you?"

"Eat cake, Pietro!"

The white, mysteriously jiggly Jello-cake that the cafeteria served in place of dessert went flying at Pietro's head. The junior whisked out of his seat, and the cake landed with a fluffy squish on Todd's greasy hair.

"Awww. Now I've gotta take a bath. Knew that I never should have come to school today."

Pietro gathered peas off Rogue's tray, and began catapulting them at Evan, using Rogue's fork. They missed, rather catastrophically pelting several members of the football team four tables away. Things blossomed from there. One of the cheerleaders at the table tossed her salad at the boys, which nearly hit Jean with a splat of soggy dressing. Soon food was flying everywhere.

Rogue and Lance took the initiative. They stood, Rogue slamming down on one end of their tiny round table, as Lance heaved on the other. The table tipped, and crashed to the floor, creating a barrier. Over at the bleaguered X-Geek table, John saw the shelter, and dove behind it, wincing as some mashed potatoes rattled after him.

There was an angry yell as Kitty was hit by a hamburger. She jumped after her housemate. "I am so skipping dessert," she declared, looking sadly down at her ketchup smeared cardigan.

"Have a napkin," Lance suggested, handing some gray squares her way.

Rogue peeked out from behind the tables. "I don't believe it. Pietro's laughing. I hope Evan clocks him. Okay, next lull, we run for the lockers."

Lance smirked as Rogue disparaged their friend. He leaned against the underside of the table, not caring in the slightest that there were old gum wads sticking to his back. He was right next to Kitty, and she was looking at him as though those few napkins had rescued her from three sizable earthquakes. This was the best food fight of his life. He was not even participating.

"I'm going to have to compliment Pietro. He knows how to duck out of answering a question with style," Lance told Todd, as Rogue was clearly more interested in what was happening outside the sanctuary.

"Oh no," Rogue moaned. "Fred, don't."

That got the attention of all of the boys who had taken cover. "What now?"

Duncan and several of the team had managed to corner Evan and Pietro. The two rivals were now back to back, facing five other members of the team.

"Beat it, Daniels," Duncan ordered. "Maximoff and I need to have a little talk about Saturday, and where he can stick his paint brush."

Evan sneered. "Not gonna, Matthews. There's a line when it comes to dealing with Pietro. Wait your turn."

"Technically his dibs were first in order of chronological complaint," Pietro pointed out.

Evan rolled his eyes. "You're not making it easy to help you out, man."

"Like I need your help."

"There's two of us, and five of them. You like those odds?"

Pietro managed to think it through. "Well, they could be better."

That was when a shadow loomed, and a hand fell on Duncan's shoulder. "Hey. Don't mess with my friends," Fred's voice was a low, and slow, but it held enough determination to cut through the small crashes, and wild yells of the student body oblivious to this little drama.

Duncan turned. "Hey, sideshow boy, aren't you supposed to be terrorizing the cafeteria workers?"

Fred lit up like a stop light. "That's _not_ FUNNY!"

One of Duncan's friends laughed. Fred slammed him into the nearest table with a careless shove. Small eyes glared out of the expansive face, focusing on Duncan as the source of a lot of humiliation.

"Fred, stop!" Jean ran towards the large boy and her boyfriend, barely stopping herself when her foot slipped on some cake. "Fred, calm down. Please."

"He, he," steam was practically coming from Fred's nose as the huge boy snorted, trying to gain control of himself. "He shouldn't have said that! It's not funny!"

"No, it wasn't," Jean told him, not certain what Duncan had said, but fairly certain that it had not been complimentary. Duncan was a funny guy, and very nice, but his humor was sharp with anyone out of place, and poor, over weight Fred was as out of place as an oyster in a tap dancing competition.

"Just, calm down. I'm going to try to get out of here, before any more food gets on me. Want to come?"

She ducked a barrage of what was probably spaghetti, and then began to edge towards the walls. Fred followed her without a second though to Duncan, or his friends, who were trying to extract one of their own from the table. Duncan, not exactly happy as his girlfriend took away a guy who had been trying to punch him in the face, turned his unhappiness on the snarky pipsqueak from Saturday.

"Alright. Daniels, move!" he tossed Evan like a back of potatoes at two of his friends.

Pietro stood his ground, ready to duck around a fist. However, before Duncan could carry out any kind of threat, There was an almighty crack, and Duncan hit the floor, stunned. Dane waved at Pietro from behind Crystal, who was looking at the cafeteria tray she was holding as though it was some alien life form.

"Way to go on the tray of power," Dane congratulated. "Shame about Matthews, though. He'll be up and around in a bit. You want me to—?"

"No," Crystal said, stepping over Duncan.

The blue eyed athlete crossed his arms, smirking at the girl. "Major points for the unconventional weaponry, but minus points for the timing. I really could have taken him myself. Although I'm impressed you worried about what a work of art he might destroy in my face."

She glared at Pietro, shaking the tray under his nose. "If I catch you using the art department paints on Matthews' book bag again, you adolescent lab rat, I'll clock you. Just be glad I didn't catch you in the act on Saturday."

"You self-centered bi—,"

WHAM! Dane shook his fist as the rising football player fell once more, clutching his jaw. It was surprising how well his shoulders filled out his black AC/DC shirt. It was easy to forget with the nearly perpetual smile that Dane wore. He cracked large knuckles. "That was fun. Can we do some more?"

"Uh," Crystal risked a glance at the hallway, and saw Principal Darkholme striding towards the still riotous cafeteria. "No. We'd better get out of here."

"Leave that to me," Pietro smirked. "I know just the place." He took off with the pair.

Just around the corner, Jean was sitting on a bench, trying to clean herself off with some paper towels from the bathroom. Fred was looking at his big shoes.

"Try not to let Duncan get to you," Jean suggested. "I know he can be trying, but it's much better not to rise to the bait."

"Well, yeah, but he's not nice about it. I ain't done nothing wrong," Fred muttered. "And I'm _always_ friendly and polite to everyone who works here. 'Cept Mr. Polaski, and that's not my fault! He calls me stupid in class."

Jean sighed. She was not certain how she had gotten stuck as Fred's confidante, but she did feel sorry for him. It must be hard being so fat. "I'm sorry to hear that Fred. It's not fair."

"No!" he exploded. "It's not. It makes me so mad! I just kinda lose it, you know? After so many jokes, I just don't see why it's so funny."

"You're right," Jean agreed, getting up. "Hey, I see Scott. Gotta go. See you later, maybe?" Without a backward glance, she ran down the hall to the waiting brown haired boy.

By the lockers across the way Rogue looked at her group—Lance, Kitty, John, and Todd. "Well, _that_ could have gone better."

"Hey, we didn't get in trouble," Lance pointed out. "That's what counts. I'd better go see how Fred is doing. Todd, you coming?"

"'Course."

Kitty looked at Rogue, who had turned to check her combination. "Wow. You guys really stick together, don't you? First that thing in Gym, and now this," she gestured vaguely.

"Well," Rogue shrugged uncomfortably, "who else is gonna look out for people like Fred? Or even people like Speedy. He's such a glory hog it's hard to like him enough to look out for him when he's in trouble."

"I suppose," Kitty agreed. "I'll see you? John, I wanna ask you something about English," she dragged the flame headed boy away from Rogue.

She was not alone for long. Both James Kittling and Cody burst from the cafeteria, laughing. However, Cody's Rogue-dar went off, and his head swung around. "R-r-rogue. Oh, man, you weren't caught in that mess, were you?"

"Just a bit," the green wearing Goth told him. "Someone's mustard special clipped my hair. You guys looked as though you were having fun."

"Yeah, well, we had to pretend that we were too into the fight that we couldn't see the significant looks that Duncan was casting our way," James leaned against the lockers, rolling his eyes. "I do not get the dude."

"I kinda understand," Cody shrugged. "That Maximoff kid painted his backpack purple with rainbows. It looked gay."

Rogue's face hardened. "When you say that, you mean "stupid" don't you?"

Cody immediately realized that his foot was in it, and he had no idea how to extract himself. "Well, no? I mean, yes. Sort of. Just, well, it's something you say, you know. It's just something I picked up. I didn't mean it that way."

"Good," Rogue's voice was flat. "I gotta go."

Cody swallowed. "Um. Oh. Well, uh, see you later? I'm sorry I didn't think. Really, I didn't mean anything by it."

Rogue turned away to hide a small smile. Idiot he might have been, but Rogue wasn't certain but that his heart might have been in the right place. "Maybe." She walked towards her next class.

Cody sighed happily. "I'm so doomed, and I don't care," he announced.

"What you are is thick headed," James told him. "Although I'm personally waiting for the world to end when you actually manage to string a coherent sentence together."

"Hey! Don't think that I can't find the ice cream I threw at you again," Cody threatened good-naturedly, beginning to walk to class as well.

Behind them, Kurt and Evan appeared, looking as though they were sporting multicolored plague. Blueberry yogurt had turned Kurt's face blue, while there was nothing uniform about Evan. Kurt dug in his back pack, though, and produced a can of orange spray cheese. "You got the springs," he asked Evan.

"Oh yeah. Time to pay Maximoff's locker a little visit," the skater laughed. He'd had a rough first two days of the ritual week of torture, but now it was time to get back some of his own.

* * *

For those wondering why Crystal bonked Duncan over the head with her tray, she had her reasons that have nothing to do with saving Pietro. They will be revealed in due course. For now, rest assured that in exchange for Remy goodness, I have withheld quite a few events that went on the Saturday of the Rogue Recruit episode. One of them included Duncan's backpack getting painted lavender with rainbows, but there was a lot going on while Pietro was indulging his inner imp of the perverse.

Other than that, I had tons of fun having Crystal and Dane team up to take Duncan down. It has made me vow to have some excuse at some point in the series to have an "Avengers Assemble" scene. Admittedly, given what I've done to various members of the Avengers and what I'm certain some of them are doing in this universe, I don't know how I'd get them all together. Wanda is one of the biggest problems, obviously, but I also have to deal with the fact that I made the Cap a police officer, and generationally not likely to hang out with these teens.

I am getting a little worried. I'm using Duncan like a punching bag. He's a good one, and the creators of Evo didn't think much of him, but am I being too harsh on Duncan? Is he well rounded enough to make his actions believable, or have I written a character with no real purpose except to be bad?

~ MF


	34. Chapter 34: Subtle as an Avalanche

**Author's Note:** Erg, melodrama. At least Rogue isn't involved this time. And there are several comics references scattered throughout this chapter. Have fun.

* * *

As far as John was concerned, sunbeams were the best thing ever. Well, maybe not the best, but the beaten up old couch that he had commandeered in the Backs was covered in sunbeams at three in the afternoon. This earned the squishy furniture the John Allerdyce seal of pure awesome.

"Yo, you going to roll around on that thing any more, or help us move the fridge?" Todd asked, as he and Lance struggled with a huge thing that Lance had found at the junk yard.

John's response to the suggestion of physical labor was to curl around his backpack, and hiss. "Noooo. Anyway, do we have electricity here? I mean, I don't think anyone is paying the bills."

Fred managed to get his bulk through the door as John pointed out the logical fallacy of a refrigerator. Looking between the couch and the moving crew, he decided that the decent thing to do would be to help with the move. John had to stiffle a grin as Lance and Todd had to jump out of the way of Fred's strong shove.

Lance winced when the refrigerator crashed into the wall near the moldy counter. As Fred began to straighten the huge block out, the stockier boy turned to John. "It's about the atmosphere. Besides, it's a good storage space, even if it doesn't work. I'm thinking of getting this place hooked up off the grid, somehow. One of the people at work suggested a few things that could be really cool if I knew how to do them."

"Chah, and we'll all get to move to Borneo on what we save," Pietro snarked from the door. "By "one of the people at work," you mean one of the drunk cops, right?"

Lance rolled his eyes. "Some of them really know their stuff, Pietro. Anyway, it was one of the other guys. An old Army buddy of Logan's and Roger's. He's apparently really something in energy and stuff. Gave me his card if I had any questions."

"Oh! A business card?" Johnny looked up excitedly. "Those are so cool. What kind of paper is it made out of?"

Digging through his pockets Lance came up with a receipt and some change before landing on the harder small rectangle. "Here you go. Mr. Stark. That was his name."

Pietro looked at the circled "SE" logo, and then back at Lance. "Um, there's no way you ran into _Anthony Stark_ in some back woods bar. I'm not believing it."

"He drinks whiskey sours," the rocker shrugged, returning the card. He cast around for his backpack. "Anyway, what's the big deal? He was just talking to me about what it was like to repair cars and stuff, and then we got onto the subject of this run down place."

Pietro smack his forehead. "You idiot. He's like one of the richest men in America. Runs something like four different mega-companies. There's no way that the real deal would be ordering whiskey sours from a mucky high school student, much less talking about your asinine plans for that Jeep."

Lance shrugged. "He was there to see Rogers. They go back, or something."

"Yeah, a back water mick and an old guy who runs a bar. They all secretly know each other from some oddly coincidental bonding experience," Pietro's stance screamed disbelief.

Pulling out a chemistry textbook Lance grabbed a wobbly chair at the central table. "Forget it. He had some decent ideas. Don't know where I'd get most of the stuff, though. So, Essex said this lab we're supposed to do is going to teach us what acids do to protein strings."

John stuck out his tongue. "You have a boring lab."

Todd shivered, remembering the end of lecture. "No way. Terrifying, maybe. But not boring. You know what protein strings are, right?"

"Organic compounds?" the Austrailian suggested hazily.

"To quote Essex: "Your flesh"—I ain't sure I wanna know what we'll be doing with H2SO4," Todd jumped to the dusty counter top.

Pietro smirked, throwing his backpack on the couch. John had to move his legs quickly to keep from being crushed. The tongue went out for a second time as Johnny pulled a face. "Watch it."

"Make room for greatness, Johnny-boy," Pietro told him. "Right now I think I'm witnessing one of the signs of the end of times. Lance is actually doing his homework."

"Shut up, Pietro."

Fred nodded, resting against the counter near Todd. "Yeah. That class sounds pretty hard. I'd like to see you do it."

"Chah. Already in AP Physics, remember? I got done with the Chem stuff last year. Just not challenging enough for me. What can you do?" Pietro shrugged.

John looked up from his notebook with a suggestion: "Not be a jerk about it?"

In reply a decaying cushion was tossed in his face. "Hey, don't be jealous just because I'm better than all of you."

"Doubt you could do my English project," John grumbled, doodling in the margins of the precious notebook.

Todd grimaced. "Essex would so kick you all over the classroom."

"Could not."

In response, Todd's tongue shot out, which only made Pietro chuckle for the sake of immaturity. Todd was not amused. "You know, Janos is in one of this other classes, and he's completely cowed by Essex."

"Pfft, Janos. He's got nothing on me. I totally beat him in every inter-team event," Pietro waved a negligent hand. "Well, except for shot-put. But that's not a real sport."

"Now you've just fed his ego," Lance told Todd, a resigned look on his face. "We'll never hear the end of it."

He wanted to naturally and smoothly insert the questions he had into the conversation again. This time there was no distraction for Pietro to use so that he could sneak away, questions unanswered. Of course, Lance had to phrase it using all of his subtlety and guile.

"So, tell us why there's something weird going on with Xavier, and a court case, or something."

Guile was not one of Lance's strong points. The group had Pietro for that. Blunt and obvious, however, did have the advantage that it stopped the track star from pontificating on the subject of his fantastic awesome-ity.

Pietro's mouth had closed, and his eyes shifted towards the door, calculating the distance. "Nothing."

Lance crossed his arms. "Nothing? Really? That's all you could come up with? Nothing."

John nodded. "Yeah, I was at least expecting a long speech about Edward the Squirrel and how this was all some kooky misadventure, such as seen on prime time television."

The expression that Pietro shot at the orange headed boy was filled with annoyance and contempt. "Nothing that matters to any of you. Happy?"

"No," Lance replied, knowing that it wasn't any of his business, but angry. He wanted some answers instead of all of this weirdness. Was he the only one who had forgotten to stack up on skeletons in the closet over summer vacation?

"To bad," Pietro jerked himself from his throne, and grabbed his backpack. "Lets head over to Shop'n'Save or something and get some drinks for the useless fridge on a five finger discount."

"Dude," Todd complained. "Really, is now really the best time to go on a free shopping spree?"

"Why not? I've got places to be, and things to do. Much better than hanging around with you losers."

Fred's face went red. "Hey. Why bother hanging with us in the first place, then? You really our friend, Pietro?"

The wiry boy shrugged. "Hey, when you live as fast as I do, you gotta find something to do with your time. Lucky for you all, I chose community service. Being kind to nosy idiots who don't know when to back off is one of my more self-sacrificing services."

Lance rose from his chair, keeping his eyes locked on Pietro. His movements were meaningful, as he strode to the open doorway, and shut it. Turning back to his skinnier friend, he crossed his arms, turning his body into a blocky obstruction. "Just _stop_. Stop being a jerk. Stop hiding secrets from the rest of us. At least tell us why—,"

"Because it's none of your business. That's why," Pietro prodded Lance in the chest. "I don't know what you heard, but it's got _nothing_ to do with you."

"Oh yeah?" Lance's witty repartee was lacking something when he was frustrated. "Well, maybe you don't get it, but—you know what? Fine! Be a moron. See what I care. I just don't want you tracking the law all over my life. Sometimes that happens when your friends get into something stupid."

Pietro's expression would have been comical, lopsided frown fighting with a glare fighting with what might have been reluctance. However he wiped it away with a snarl in an instant. "You know what, Lance, you're not my mother. Stop acting like such a woman."

The brown haired boy looked as though he was about to explode with rage. "I told you already: Fine! You can keep your secrets."

"You can keep your stinking friendship!"

"You can get right out the door, then!"

"Well, I will!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

The poor door practically exploded off the hinges as both young men gave it a savage push. Both looked down in embarrassment, but Pietro quickly recovered himself and ran out. Lance stood there, feeling defeated.

Todd held up a hand from the counter. "I'd give you a five point five out of ten for success."

"How's that a good thing?" Lance asked dully, flopping down to study.

John uncurled from his defensive position. Burrowing into the couch had not worked very well. "Um, with rounding, it becomes 60% which isn't bad."

"Hah," looking at the words in his text book didn't seem to soothe the inner fires which were now raging at what an idiot he was.

It was quiet in the kitchen for a few moments. Lance tried to concentrate fiercely on his homework. Everyone else tried to concentrate fiercely on something that was not argument related. Fred broke first, choosing to leave the room. In the dim hallway, he stopped by the closet at the foot of the staircase. From that angle, he could see a backpack stashed in one corner.

The stairs creaked and groaned under the large boy's frame as he clambered up them. Where the stair case turned to head into the attic, Pietro was scrawling uncomplimentary words on the walls. The pale boy didn't even look up.

"Took you long enough," he accused.

The bigger of the two was not quite certain what Pietro was talking about. "Uh?"

That did cause Pietro to look up. "Oh. Fred. Thought you were Lance, my mistake."

Freddy's forehead wrinkled as he tried to find a good answer to that one. This was much easier when Rogue told him to go off and fix things. "Well, um, I'm not?"

"Sorry loser couldn't even apologize correctly."

Fred followed his skinny friend's eyes to Pietro's white running shoes. That seemed to be where he had directed his comment as well. However, Fred did have something to say about that, he was sure. "Well, Lance seems really mad. Like really, really mad. I don't think he'll be ready to come down from this one for a while."

"Yeah, well, it's none of his business, and he can keep his huge nose out of it," Pietro growled.

He waited for Fred to say something. However, Fred wisely stayed silent. Finally, the lack of noise became suffocating. Pietro rose from the stairs again.

"Look, tell him that it's absolutely none of his business. Professor Xavier was just put in charge of some stuff as a guardian-trustee whatever when my Dad ran off and left me with my real family. There's been some weird legal stuff that's come up. That's all. I want to deal with this on my own. Okay? It's not your business, or Lance's business, or Todd's business, or the business of that Australian super freak downstairs. This is just "me" stuff," Pietro headed down the steps.

As he edged around Fred's bulk, the mohawk sporting wrestler held out a hand. "Um. Not for nothing, but I could use some help."

One black eyebrow raised, betraying the white-haired boy's interest. "Really?"

From behind his back, Fred managed to bring out the small backpack he had been carrying around for the last three hours. It looked like a toy in his huge hands. "Yeah. Uh. I found this outside the cafeteria, after the fight today. It's Jean's. Uh. What should I do?"

"Duh," Pietro smacked his forehead theatrically. "Give it back, man. Only thing to do. Unless she left some money in there. Anyway, gotta go. Lots to do, and not a lot of time to do it in. See ya."

With that, Pietro scooped up the backpack from where he had dropped it on the second floor landing, and raced downstairs. Fred looked after him, nervously wondering if he could give the backpack back to Jean. He had already taken something from it. What if she noticed the photo was gone?

* * *

So, was that too melodramatic?

~ MF


	35. Chapter 35: TryOut Thursday

**Author's Note:** Wow, this was surprisingly hard to write. The locker room scene in particular did not work out. Oh well, sometimes that's how it goes.

* * *

The first trial was discovering with whom he should sit. John looked around desperately. The court was filled with would be athletes all doing vaguely practice-y things. The reall problem was the bleachers, which were full of people doing supporter-y things. He could already see Jean and Scott, sitting with Piotr who looked vaguely bemused, and Betsy, who looked Besty-esque. On the other side of the bleachers, Todd and Fred were sitting with Rogue. It also didn't help that Lance was lurking right by the gym door, and Kurt had come in with him.

"Hey, c'mon, man, sit with us," Kurt tugged at the orange sweatshirt that John was wearing. "I know you don't know Evan, but hanging with us has got to be fun, right?"

"Yeah but, actually, um, it was the other guy who invited me," John mumbled.

Kurt gave him a look. The expression was enough to tell John that he probably wasn't going to be sitting with Rogue. "But Pietro's a jerk. Anyway, no one's saying that you have to cheer for anyone you don't want to. Just sit with us. We can flick popcorn at the back of Piotr's head. It'll be great."

Popcorn and annoying people was tempting. Plus, Kurt would probably have some great puns saved. "Can we spill coke on Betsy's hair? I wanna see special red face of death! Er, um,, well, after I've gone to talk with Marie."

"Oooooh," Kurt's grin was knowing. "So that's why—,"

"It is not!"

"Is, too!"

"Is not!"

"Is, too!"

"Will you both give it a rest?" Lance asked irritably, as he shouldered past them.

John leaped to the occasion, having no intention of let Kurt say anything that could get him in trouble. "I thought you weren't coming?"

Lance's expression was exasperated. "Yeah. So did I. Pietro's a jerk."

"Told you!" Kurt grinned.

John motioned for Lance to continue, which he did with a shrug in the direction of the bleachers. "Fred and Todd talked me around. 'Sides, the Rogue's been let out on the condition of being a good and useful member of society, so, I'm going to hang out a bit afterwards. You wanna join?"

Kurt shrugged. "Sounds pretty goo—,"

"Geeks not invited," the compassionate and ever-tactful boy interrupted.

John's mouth crinkled in a frown. "And with that cheery invite, I can see I'm no longer needed. Toodle-loo. C'mon, Kurt."

The dramatic exit would have been better, John realized, if he had actually been exiting. Forcefully walking across the basketball court, and sitting down only a few yards from where he would have anyway seemed to be a little, well, childish. Kurt bouncing after him did not help give his statement any more weight.

"So, is it trouble in paradise?" Kurt asked. "I mean, Maximoff and Alvers are pretty tight. Not that I'm a fan, but it's weird to see them angry with one another."

John shrugged. "Not sure, really. Pietro's got some stuff going on in his personal life to do with the Prof, and when Lance found out he kinda freaked out."

"Ooh? Is there an evil twin?"

John laughed at Kurt's "diabolical fingers" which had started out Montgomery Burns-like, and devolved into excited finger tip tapping. "I wish. That would be cool."

"Pietro, having a twin?" Betsy asked, craning her head around. "That would be terrifying. Can you imagine two arrogant speedy kids convinced that they're God's gift to the universe?"

John thought for a moment. "Sadly, yes. Yes, I can."

Russovitch blew the whistle. John tried to listen to the pep talk involving how good it was to be strong for Bayville High, and the crushing of enemies, but after a while he had to tune it out. If he ever wrote a character based on this guy, he would so make them way more wimpier. Yes. And forget all his grammar. See if he wouldn't.

A hand waved in front of his face, breaking John's line of thought. "Dude, do you always mutter under your breath so much? You need to watch the game," Kurt pointed, as Evan dribbled down the court, smacking into one of the seniors, as he tried to dodge around.

Pietro nipped in, just as the ball was about to be lost, and raced towards the nearest basket. John felt confusion as he watched his skinny friend streak past the other nine players. Was this what try outs were like?

The wong-wong sound of a basketball falling from the rim to the outside of the net took John by surprise. Pietro's reaction was quick, as he jumped for the rubber ball. However some other brown haired boy John didn't know had already been in a better position. A second shot at victory within Pietro's reach, and the ball was nabbed from outstretched fingers. The boy took off, heading to the other end of the court, the white haired track star hard on his heels.

"I thought this was just supposed to be try outs? Don't you just see who can shoot, and who can't?" John asked Kurt.

His friend was vibrating on the edge of his seat. "We play a couple of informal games here, and then Russovitch makes the cut," Kurt shrugged. "It's way more exciting this way. Evan and Pietro almost always pull together in the last few minutes. They're a pretty good team, actually. Pietro's great at passing, and stealing, and Evan makes amazing shots. They'll both probably be on the team. And there are some decent freshman this year who stand a chance."

Something did not quite mash up, and it was not the clever players doging around each other, either. John remembered Pietro coming to Drama covered in cheese whiz and furious about the mess in his locker. Not to mention the great notebook hurricane in the hall on Wednesday. "Weren't they trying to get rid of each other for this game?"

Kurt shrugged. "Well, yeah, but it's cool now."

"Really?"

Distracted by a quick turn around, as a tall kid blocked the brown haired stealer of the ball long enough for Pietro to dodge in, and snag it for himself again, Kurt did not answer. Betsy pumped her fist in the air.

"Yeah! Go Everett!"

John focused on Pietro, spinning around the same senior that had effectively blocked Evan. If Football was anything to go by, which it wasn't, the fastest player would make the score. However, clearly they weren't playing by Melbourne rules. Pietro skidded around another opponent, and suddenly the ball had disappeared. Evan, powering out of nowhere, tossed the ball as though he hadn't a care in the world. It floated lazily over the hoop, and then sank in like a stone.

"Grrrrah!" the coach screamed. "Daniels! What have I said! Attack! Attack! Don't take your time to show off! Maximoff could have intercepted that shot!"

Evan looked contrite, as Everett threw the ball back in the game. "Sorry, coach." The ball sailed past his head.

"Don't be sorry! Play, comrade!"

Evan ran for the ball, just as Pietro grabbed it. The taller boy dribbled it around, trying to keep Evan from blocking him, as he paced backwards and forwards on the court. "Hey, Daniels, wanna little incentive to make shots?"

"What more do I need?" Evan decided to play along. With a quick lunge, he bounced the ball from under Pietro's hand to the blond junior who was also trying out. Pietro scowled, turning to run after the boy, who feinted to the left, getting around the small obstacle, and passing the ball back to Evan.

Now it was Pietro's turn to block, and he smirked. "I was just thinking. Could you take the challenge of me both set up your shots and stealing them?"

"Oh," Evan smirked, "you are so on!"

He broke away, making a high pass to Everett.

From the stands, John tried to follow the game, but he was not aware of the rules, and the players did not seem to be, either, so it was hard to fathom. This left him chewing the ends of one of his pens as the players raced back and forth. Okay, so it was tense. Pietro seemed to be in possession most of the time, but he rarely scored, passing to one of the other boys, and any time Evan tried to make a basket, Pietro tried to stop him. Those were, in mathematical language, the constants of the game. Everything else was chaos. St. John quite liked chaos, and he hated math.

Finally, he and Betsy made a block of support for the younger Everett, just because. Betsy pulled on Piotr's arm in her excitement. "Come on! Let's try to get a wave going!"

Piotr smiled, declining. "I don't think that there are enough people, yes?"

"Nah! But it'll be awesome. Johnny agrees."

Waving his arms, the Austrailian was singing slightly off key: "Cheer, cheer the red and the white, honour the name by day and by night, lift that noble banner high, shake down the thunder from the sky—Ow!"

"Nothing but Manchester United songs from you," Betsy removed her hands from his wrist.

John rubbed the spot, which was flaming red. "Ow. Where'd you learn that?"

"Indian rug burn? I have two brothers. It's an amazing defense mechanism," Betsy smirked.

The whistle shrilled once more. The two foreigners quickly tried to appear as though they were not disrupting the hallowed halls of sport. The bloodshot glare rested on them nevertheless, before it roamed over the rest of the court, and the frozen athletes.

"All right!" Russovitch bellowed. "You will change. I will post the team when I am ready! No complaining. All decisions final!"

"Which means, of course, that he'll change things as he sees fit," Kurt translated.

Sweat running down his forehead, Evan walked up to the group. "Hey, Kurt, I'm gonna hit the showers. You wanna come back and hang? Bring some friends. Maximoff owes me a soda."

"I do not, chump," the pasty boy crossed his arms. "If anything you owe me."

Bickering they moved towards the lockers. Kurt grinned. "Hey, John, you wanna come? This should be fun. The "oh God, I'm going to be on the same team as this guy" expression is hilarious."

"Nah," John replied, moving his way along the bleacher to where Rogue was trying to stry upwind of Todd and still talk to him.

The problem with this was that there was no wind, and thus the smell sort of permeated. However, the merits of Star Wars episodes were not a topic that Rogue could pass up if Todd was going to go on a rant. Todd rants were marvelous works of hilarious, involving threats to take showers, and destruction of Hayden Christiansen for turning the coolest villain ever into a pretty boy lame-o.

"Even Scott could have done the role better! Hey, John, help me out here. Convince Rogue that she should join in my evil plot to destroy this horrible actor. It'd be totally cool, yo. I mean, I've got the style, and pizazz, while Marie takes care of the planning stuff," the enthusiastic nod did not convince John on anything.

He just grinned, waving a sheaf of printed pages in his English partner's face. "Lookit what I got. One chapter ready for revision and editing. How're you coming on yours?"

Rogue's answer was a noncommittal shrug. "I don't have much, actually. Just a bit of back story, and a power. I'll tell you later. Right now, I want to use my time to hang out for as long as I can. We're gonna go back to the locker rooms. It's fun watching jocks try to cover for having a woman back there."

"Betsy's rubbing off on you, isn't she?" John asked.

They trotted down the steps, Rogue thinking of a suitable come back just as they reached the bottom. "Like an eraser. So, I heard Pietro and Lance aren't talking."

John held up his hands. He would do what loyal friends did, which was, simply put, not drag Rogue into the middle of a mess she would only make worse. "Ixnay on that, okay?"

"What's the deal?" Fixing him with her gray eyes, Rogue tried a death stare.

John's impossibility, however, rendered the death stare not a problem. It was a useful skill to have. "Well, I've asked myself that very question. Why are we here? What are we doing? Why can't I make the Bunsen burners dance to my will? It all came to me a while back. There are other worlds out there, where everything happens, and nothing is the same. Sadly, the machinations of an insectoid race have broken the fabrics of many realities, and it is up to a mix-matched team of intrepid explorers to fix them."

Oh boy, Rogue rolled her eyes. "John, if Betsy's been rubbing off on me, I'm rubbing off on you."

"Oooh! Who'm I rubbing off on, then?" John asked eagerly.

"No one, there's enough of you," the shadow of the locker room hallway had disguised Lance, but he stepped forward. Todd reached up for a high five.

"Hey, great that you showed. Does this mean we can finally stop acting as though we all hate each other?"

There was a shrug of the shoulders to indicate that in the short term, Todd could stop acting, although Lance was still angry. If this had not been clear enough, the junior added: "I was cheering for Evan."

That commented set Rogue's hands on her hips. "I didn't hear any particularly loud calls."

"Cheering for him in my head, okay? Pietro's still a stupid jerk—one who might be in trouble, so I'll give him a few inches on the leash. 'Sides, we're about to see the "I have to be on the same team as this guy" face, which is rocking."

He pulled open the locker room door, only to be confronted by Jean walking through. "Sorry, guys, I've got homework. Besides, this place makes me a little nervous—gah!"

The rest of the institute kids peered around the door. Kurt waved. "Hey, John, good of you to show up. I think the verbal war is heating down, so the funny faces—,"

"What are you doing here, Alvers?" Scott asked, frowning. Lance's appearances in his life were rarely moments of joy, and Scott did not really want to deal with that during his free time.

"He came to see his friend, just as you were doing," Pietro commented,

Lance shouldered his way past Scott. "Actually, I came here because I thought that Evan got way better over the summer. He'll really do well on the team."

Jaw dropping horror began to describe Pietro's expression. However, it didn't cover the way his eyebrows contorted. Kurt grinned, and gave Lance a thumbs up.

"That's the one."

"You're a horrible person, you know that, Lance."

"Consider it pay-back," Lance shrugged, before looking around. "Are you X-Geeks still here?"

The four from the Institute looked at once another. Piotr stepped forward, making the height comparison even more evident. "Is there any reason that we should not be?"

Certainly, they were X-Geeks, and Lance did not want the looser germs to rub off. However, that kind of explanation was only slightly better than "eww, cooties." His only recourse was to ignore Piotr—when did nature intend for men to be so freaking huge?—and walk over to Pietro's corner.

"You know, for someone who's claiming to be supporting me, you don't seem very supportive," Evan packed the last of his uniform into his bag.

Lance declined to comment. The rest of the gang just leaned against some of the lockers. Looking at Piotr and Betsy, Rogue decided to way-in.

"Look, I'm only here for another couple of minutes, 'cause of being grounded. And that means I'd actually like to hang with my friends for a bit."

"Good thing that we're your friends, then," Betsy grinned.

Pietro snorted. "Whatever. I bet Johnny-boy will be too engrossed in his homework to hang out."

"Hey, I am so into my homework I can convince Rogue do homework with me," John grinned, waving the chapter. "Character revisions. Their siren call is beckoning."

Rogue snatched it out of his hand. "Oh, gimme that."

"Homework wins," Betsy cackled, sitting on a bench near Piotr. "You so belong with us."

"In the words of five year olds everywhere: "eww, cooties." I have got better things to do with my time," Rogue told them.

"Like supporting me in my awesomeness," Pietro grinned.

Grabbing a towel from the nearest bench, Rogue threw it at him. "Try listening to Todd rant. It's hilarious."

Scott kept his "I'll bet," to himself.

"Whatever," Betsy smirked.

Pietro and Evan had both finished packing. They glared across the intervening space, before both headed for the door. The awkward group joined together, and followed, bickering slightly, but not talking in the main. Indeed, when the time to separate in front of the gym came, the group spit apart into two factions as though a magnet had pulled the apart. This left John in the middle, a lonely metal filing.

"I'll, uh, catch up," he told Kurt, falling in beside Rogue.

Kurt just gave him a wink and a thumbs up, making John hope that he was not blushing.

The small gang of Bayville High hoodlums walked towards the backs at a leisurely stroll, listening to Pietro rant about Daniels with a sort of ease. Rogue fully intended to find out why exactly Lance and Pietro seemed to have a wall between them at the moment, but for now, it was the end of prank week, and she only had one week left for being grounded. Well, a week and a day, counting school tomorrow. But tomorrow was Friday, and did not count.

"Everyone could see that if it weren't for me, Daniels wouldn't have had a single shot!"

Todd, deciding to bait Pietro a little, stuck his hands in his pockets. "So, why didn't you take them all yourself?"

The retort was quick. "Can't hog all the glory."

"Or admit that Evan shoots better," Lance chuckled.

Pietro growled. "Dude, that was low. I am so through with holding back just to make guys like Daniels look good."

"Uh," Fred began, "Can we talk 'bout something else? I'm kinda tired with the whole Evan is an annoying loser angle. I don't even know the guy."

"What about the aliens who come and take people's socks out of the washer when no one is looking?" John suggested.

Fred looked alarmed. "They really do that? Those devious sock stealers."

Lance and Rogue snared a snicker, as Fred encouraged John's antics. It was a very good afternoon.

* * *

Any advice on tightening up this chapter would be appreciated.

~ MF


	36. Chapter 36: Double Trouble

**Author's Note:** Dedicated to my old reviewer Episodic, who suggested that I fit in this 616 analogue. I've been planning this since the reboot, and you have no idea how stoked I am to finally write about this guy. Well, actually, it's more like how happy I am to write about his counterpart. Also dedicated to my friend Terrodar who first floated the idea of the other character as an eleven year-old past me several years ago. I'll find a way to fit in some unconventional weaponry, I promise.

Also, more hint dropping. Huzzah.

* * *

"With that, have a good Friday," Raven Darkholme switched off the intercom.

Stretching she rolled away from her desk for a second, staring out the sunny window longingly. Oh the weekend. It wouldn't be soon enough. Glancing back at her desk, the principal grimaced at the letter on top of her paper work. Trust Forge to take every advantage of having been her boyfriend for all of two minutes.

A timid knock on the door interrupted the woman, but it was clearly only Dorothy. The secretary was the only one who would knock as though she was afraid that she would be shouted at, and then enter before Raven gave her permission. Aggravating woman.

"Ms. Darkholme? There is a man waiting to see you. He said his name was Erik Lensherr."

What? Raven managed to calm her expression before it gave way to shock and horror. "Show him in, I suppose. He didn't say what he wanted to talk about, did he?"

"No, ma'am."

Heels clicking as soon as they left the carpeted inner sanctum, Dorothy left the office. Raven had enough time to straighten her chair, and prepare herself with the intent of being amused. It was always better, in her experience, to deal with Erik as though she was genially interested in his projects.

"Mr. Lensherr, what brings you here? I had thought that you were abroad."

Without replying, Erik took the chair in front of the desk. The fedora that had adorned his head was placed carefully on his lap. Absolute assurance that he would get what he wanted radiated from the man.

"I want information about my son, Raven."

Raven looked at the white haired man over the tops of steepled fingers. "And you know that Pietro's adoptive parents have requested that you have no contact with him. A request reinforced by a court order, I believe."

Silence bloomed. Then Erik commented, as though he was speaking of the weather: "I am not the only one in the room who has done things that they are not proud of when it comes to dealing with their children. But I am the only one who has been honest about all that I have done. I would like answers, Raven, and I am asking _politely_."

The principal's lips thinned. Leaning back in her chair, Raven glared at the older man. "Very well. What do you want to know?"

"What any father would."

Raven did not want to play a guessing game with Lensherr right now. "He does well in sports, well in class, and is a constant disciplinary headache."

"Really?" if Ms. Darkholme had not known better, she would have believed that Mr. Lensherr's voice had cracked.

Instead, she just raised an eyebrow. "Really. At a school like Bayville, most students come from prosperous families. We know how to deal with those who believe that they are entitled to whatever they wish. In Pietro's case he believes that people are only entitled to what they take."

Whether Erik's nod was in agreement or sympathy, Rave could not tell. Silence occupied the room for a moment, as he searched for some words, and finally he managed to ask: "What about Charles?"

Principal Darkholme's lips thinned once more. "As far as I know, he has little to do with Pietro. Other than providing him with contact from legal council."

If Erik had not worn gloves, Raven would have bet that his hands would have whitened. "Really?"

Ms. Darkholme smirked. "Really. Is there anything else about children that we would like to discuss, hmm?"

Erik was saved from answering by a knock on the door. Dorothy burst in with a black haired woman hard on her heels. Of the two, the black-haired one looked slightly frazzled, while the secretary appeared to be terrified.

"Ms. Darkholme, ah, this is Ms. Thurman of SYNE. Um, she has two _children_ waiting in the office. They are um, it's irregular."

Ms. Thurman cut Dorothy off. "One of your students is participating in the program, and I need to—that is to say, the children are here, now, and they don't really have anywhere else to go. So I'm dropping them off early."

As Raven tried to process the information, a crash was audible through the open door. Ms. Thurman whipped around. "Nathan! You had better pick up that chair right _now_! I know it was you!"

"Was not!"

"Don't blame this on your brother!" Ms. Thurman turned back to the adults in the room. "They're wonderful children, really. Anyway, what normally happens is that the SYNE participants accompany the volunteer, in this case, Miss Jean Gray, every Friday. Normally they don't come until after school hours, but it is not that unusual for the kids to be dropped off by their guardians a little earlier. In that case they are allowed to follow their volunteer into class as long as they use their respectful voices: that means you, Nathan!"

"Whatever," the sullen reply was clear, as was the snickering that followed.

Principal Darkholme sighed, and waved a hand at Dorothy. "If you could call Ms. Gray to the office, please?"

The secretary nodded, and trotted back to her desk. Erik's blue gaze followed her, while he tried to decide what to do. Ms. Thurman was still in the office, and he could hardly rage to Raven about Charles' unwonted interest in the inner workings of his family. The man was an old friend, it just seemed unfair that Charles would take such an interest in Erik's children now that he could no longer take care of his own. If only Erik had done the sensible thing when Wanda started acting out, rather than instinctively gone to Xavier's door begging for help, things might have gone differently. He might still have a family, and he certainly would not be asking Raven Darkholme to spy on his own son for him.

That was another problem, as well. Pietro. Erik barely remembered what hopes he had cherished upon discovering that he had a son. But hopes there had been. Now Pietro was an unknown little boy in sweatshirt and jeans. A failure, and a testament to his father's failure.

"I will come again, Raven. Ms. Thurman," he nodded at the woman, wondering for an instant if she was wearing an eyepatch over one eye, but that idle fancy was gone as she turned her head, and the shadow moved.

Sticking her hands in her tight jeans pockets, Ms. Thurman looked after the departing man for a moment, and then turned her attention back to Raven. "So, have you got anything to drink around here?"

"No," Ms. Darkholme narrowed her eyes.

The phone on Raven's desk beeped. "Ms. Darkholme? Jean Grey is here."

Looking guilty, Ms. Thurman headed out of the office. "Er, I'd better see her for myself before I hand them over."

Raven followed the woman, slightly curious about the professional do-gooder's reservations, and what was about to be dropped in her school. In the outer office, Jean leaned on the panel separating Dorothy from the rest of the world. The self-assured young woman was chatting as though Dorothy were an old family friend. Raven smirked. Oh, to be young and a queen bee. She had hated those girls when she had been in school.

"Hi, I'm Neena Thurman," a forceful hand shot forward, as cold eyes measured Jean's possibility of break down. Her hair might be a problem. "The two terrors, who were here a moment ago—get out here, you two!"

From behind the filing cabinet, two faces emerged, followed by bodies. The young boys were identical, down to the bright yellow bruising surrounding each left eye, and the gaunt, suspicious expressions that they wore. The one on the right, thankfully, was wearing a blue shirt, while the one on the left was in a gray one, but Jean did not need to hear their names to know that the brown haired ten-year olds would be nearly impossible to tell apart.

"These are Nathaniel and Nathan Pryor," Ms. Thurman gestured. "You'll learn to tell them apart pretty quickly, actually."

Gray shirt sneered, and crossed his arms. "We're _not_ some matched set, lady."

"That one is Nathan," Neena told the young girl, who felt far less confidant. "They'll be good, won't they?"

"Yes, Ms. Thurman," Blue shirt's eyes were trying to strip her skin off with their intensity, Jean decided. She was about to welcome both of them, when Blue shirt, supposedly Nathaniel commented: "You have red hair. It's like mom's."

Nathan squinted, scowling. "You're right, for once, moron. I don't like her already."

Jean looked at Ms. Thurman, who thrust a file into her hands. "Keep it, don't lose it. Have fun with them, and don't forget to go to class."

The twins watched her, as she waltzed away, before turning unwavering attention on Jean once more. Nathaniel's eyes darted to his brother's, and they shared an evil glance, that promised much plotting, and childish pranks.

"You should take us to class," Jean was getting the feeling that she had stepped into a horror flick, when Nathaniel talked. Nathan was a small canister of anger about to go off, but Nathaniel sounded as though he might do anything at any time, so Jean had better watch her step.

"Sure, guys," Jean smiled. "I'm Jean. I've got AP Bio lab right now. Have you ever participated in a lab before?"

Both boys looked at each other. Nathan made a face. "Have you ever hear of patronization before?"

Jean had not, mainly because Nathan had not said "patronizing" correctly, but she thought it politic not to mention that. "No, I haven't. But bio lab is fun. Really. We'll be looking at molds growing in Petri dishes."

"Will I get to learn how to produce bioweapons there?" Nathaniel asked innocently.

Jean contemplated saying "No, how could you think such a thing?" However, they were old enough to know "patronization" even if they could not use it correctly in a sentence. It was time to pull out the big guns. "Well, you can learn stuff that would tell you the theory behind them. Mostly we'll be poking at mold in a pitri dish under a microscope. Thanks to the dye we use, the mold turns into pink wiggly things."

Brown eyebrows raised significantly in Nathan's direction. The boy did not look as impressed. "Pssht. Bioweapons are cooler. I totally was interested in making one and then using it on you."

Nathaniel smacked his forehead with his palm. "You don't tell people before they are infected, poser!"

The expression that crossed Nathan's face was ugly and furious. "Don't call me that!" his knuckled fist shot out to hit his brother in the arm.

"Boys!" Jean thrust the two apart with a swiftness that she had not known she possessed. "Nathan, Nathaniel, don't fight!"

Nathan grabbed the hand on his shoulder, and twisted furiously, his face screwed up in anger. "Shut up! You're not our mother!"

"Let her go!" Nathaniel took advantage of Jean's distracted pain to throw himself at his brother.

The two boys rolled all over the hall, a flurry of thin elbows and knobbly knees. They banged into two lockers. The noise of angry fists hitting spare flesh was covered by grunts of pain, although neither boy locked in the struggle called out.

The door to the science faculty staff room opened, slamming right into Nathan's back, and nearly taking out Jean, as she dove to pull the boys apart once more.

"What is going on here?" Dr. Essex asked, glaring down.

The rolling and spitting stopped, Nathaniel on top, his knees digging into his brother's rib cage. Both looked up at the chemistry teacher, just as a grateful Jean separated them, by pulling Nathaniel off by the back of his blue shirt.

"I'm terribly sorry. I'm supposed to be watching these two for the rest of the day, and they just started—,"

A wave of an arrogant white hand cut Jean's explanation short. "I am sorry I asked," bending, he helped Nathan get to his feet.

The young boy snarled, spitting a few drops of blood from a split lip. "Get offa me! I don't need help!"

"I was not giving it. I hate children I am not allowed to experiment upon. But I hate the idea of you littering the hallway more," the science teacher adjusted his tie as he stood. "Be grateful, brat, that Miss Grey is ready to protect you. Miss Grey, you should probably take those two somewhere to cool down. I'll write you a note."

Jean breathed out, "Thank you sir."

She looked at Nathaniel, who's nose was already purpliAnng. His brother looked like a mess, with scratch marks down one side of his face, and his bleeding lip. She was going to need everything that she had ever heard about kids to keep these two in control. And she was going to need to speak to Mr. Forge. First thing Monday, she was going to need to have a long conversation with him, and anyone else involved in the program with some advice. For now, she was going to try to fix this, one thing at a time.

"Okay, you two, we're going to the nurse."

They walked down the hallway together.

"When I build my bioweapon I'm gonna release it on that lab coat teacher first," one of the two threatened grimly, before spitting once more.

Dr. Essex smiled sinisterly to himself, and then turned back to the staff room to continue grading. It did one good to get out in the world a little.

* * *

For those who couldn't figure out who was who:

Nathan is Stryfe. As Neena said, it's almost impossible to not know him as soon as he opens his mouth. He generally makes violent, angry suggestions.

Nathaniel is Cable. He's more subtle than his younger twin, but given his upbringing he isn't going to be the good twin by any means.

Any further questions will have to be asked in a review.

~ MF


	37. Chapter 37: Peace Offering

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry for the length of this chapter. There is a lot going on in this section of the plot, and this means a lot of scene switches, and I separate my chapters based upon the scene switches. So, it's not as long as some chapters. Blame Magneto, that's what I always do.

* * *

The bell rang for the second period, but three students were reluctant to go inside. John had discovered a leaf pile left conveniently on the grounds when he went outside to throw out his juice box after English, and as he had a free period, the orange haired Australian wanted to play. Evan Daniels watched him from the black top, the skater drinking some milk, and chuckling as the seventeen year old jumped up and down in delight.

"You know you look as though you're thirteen, right?" Evan called out.

In response, John grabbed a handful of leaves and threw them in the air. "By the papery representation of fire, I declare that I am closer to a lad of ten!"

Evan waved his hand. "Whatever, man. Hey, Kurt said that you were super good with stuff. I was wondering if you could help me with a history project."

John pursed his lips. History was not his thing, per se, but it was definitely cool to be asked for help. He wondered if this was how Rogue felt when she tutored people for English. "Sure thing, what's it about?" the boy asked, walking over.

"Um, the _Star Wars_ Program—I mean, that's pretty chill that I get to studying the movie-making industry, but I don't think that I can write a paper on it, you know? That's why Kurt said come to you," Evan began.

John wracked his brains. He was certain that something other than the movie had been named _Star Wars_. Betsy had been giggling about something on the news to do with missile shields, and this all sounded familiar. However, before John voice his doubts, Pietro dashed past both boys.

"Woah," Evan followed his rival with his eyes, as Pietro rounded the corner. "Where do you think he's going?"

"Definitely not to class," John replied, curiosity stirring. "Wanna go see?"

The skateboard hit the asphalt, and Evan grinned. "Of course. Think you can catch up?"

John had to race after the skater, as he pushed of, and swung around the corner. It was completely unfair, but then again, unfair advantages were the best when they were used by the right people—such as John. It would be hypocritical not to allow Evan his head start, and then rub soup in his hair at a later point in revenge.

John rounded the corner, only to see Pietro reclining coolly against the wall, as though nothing stranger than Evan being a dork was occurring. "Hey, Daniels, Allerdyce, what's up?"

Evan managed a nonchalant shrug. "Nothing. We were just hanging out when you came through like a bat out of the depths of the Bat Cave. What's up?"

Pietro risked a look around the side of the school. He turned back to the two possible compatriots, feeling slightly more relaxed. "Just planning to ditch out on the rest of the day. Wanna join? I've got plans."

"What kind of plans, man?" Evan was rightfully suspicious. Pietro did not include him in activities unless forced by someone else.

However, the speedy athlete merely shrugged. "You know, stuff. I've got things to do. Haven't formalized anything yet, but hey, we'll see. Johnny-boy, are you in?"

John was trying to unobtrusively peer around the corner of the school. What had Pietro seen? The steps, flag pole, and Principal Darkholme's car in the parking lot were ruled out one-by-one. Maybe an ex-girlfriend had come to call? But no girls were in sight. Just an old man in a dark coat moving with purpose toward his car. None of this should have been enough to send Pietro into a dead run.

"Yo, Earth to John boy. Come in!" Pietro rapped his knuckles against Johnny's skull.

Startled, the Australian held up his backpack in defense. "What? Huh?"

The American just tapped his foot for a second, before realizing that it was easier to apologize than ask permission. "C'mon."

He started off, walking to the asphalt strip that represented the end of school grounds. John was following by the time Pietro left the pavement for the sidewalk opposite. In a whir of wheels, Evan caught up with both, although as soon as he drew level with John, he hopped off his skateboard.

"Hey, man, what do you think, you're doing, huh?"

John was not quite sure. "I dunno. Research on the American teen? This is my first time skipping here," he neglected to mention that at home he had gone off on his own quite a lot to burn homework and tests that he did not deem worthy of hims talent. This was different. Now he was bunking off with friends. Well, with Pietro, and skater kid, which was close enough, to his mind.

Pietro looked back at the two of them. "Hustle it up, will you? We've got places to be."

Evan trotted to catch up with the older boy. "Yeah? Like where?"

The white haired Pietro stuck his hands in his pockets, as he thought about the answer. "Look, my friend has been in whine mode all week. Maybe for legit reasons, but whatever. So, peace offering, seems like the best idea. Eh, I'll try it. I'm sick of dealing with it."

Evan stared at Pietro, wondering if he should shout "Pod person!" or not. This was the same self-centered jerkwad he had grown up with right? Then again, Pietro was friends with that raccoony goth girl. Maybe he'd just gotten some sort of talking to. Kurt's friend Kitty often managed to talk him into doing things he didn't want to.

John stuck his hands behind his head. "So what are we getting Lance, then? A soda, or something?"

Pietro smirked, kicking a cluster of leaves from his path. Small store fronts had popped up on every side as they got closer towards the small shopping strip that constituted the downtown area. "What are you people planning to do later tonight?"

"Homework?" John shrugged. "Kurt is probably going to talk Jean into making ice cream waffles once again."

Evan rolled his eyes. "My dad's having a barbecue."

Pietro waved his hand negligently. "Look, meet me here at eleven."

Evan looked around, seeing nothing more exciting than a bike repair shop, and an autobody store. Sleepy mom and pop shops did not fit with Pietro's personality as Evan knew it, and they certainly didn't mesh with hisl. There wasn't anywhere interesting to skate, just to start with.

John conducted a similar inspection, and could only come to one conclusion. "You want to steal a fire hydrant?"

Blue eyes rolled in exasperation. "Hardly. What's Lance always wanting, and never has the money for?"

John was hazy on his knowledge of car parts, but Lance always needed everything. "A decelerator? Um, we don't have the money for anything expensively car-like, either."

Maximoff chuckled, patronizingly ruffling John's hair. "You're so naïve, Johnny-boy. We don't need to pay for anything. _Keigo's_ never locks its back door, and it's filled with anything Lance might want."

"Whoa, man," Evan said backing up.

Pietro was suddenly at his side, blue eyes calculating. "Whatsamatter, Daniels? Gonna back out now? John's already agreed."

"But I _haven't_," Evan replied, his skateboard becoming a shield.

Not precisely going to plan, Pietro grimaced. Still, Evan had the willpower of a turnip. "Whatever. Invitation's open, just don't snitch," Pietro prodded Evan's chest, glaring.

Turning around, he began to walk away. John looked at Evan. He wanted to—well, maybe he did not care if Pietro was stopped, per se, but this sounded just like a recipe for disaster. On the other hand, what was the reasonable response? Not show up? But then he'd know about it, and he was certain that Dr. MacTaggart could read his mind. Then he'd be an accomplice.

From Evan's expression, it looked as though he was struggling, too. If John had known the guy better, maybe he might have asked what Evan was thinking, and Evan would have replied that this sounded stupid, and maybe an intervention was in order. However, all John could managed was a weak: "So, you'll show me your paper when you've got a rough draft?"

"Yeah," Evan nodded, flipping his skateboard back to the ground. "Yeah. Um, see ya."

John nodded heading back towards the school. After a few yards, Evan caught up on his skateboard. This was going to be awkward.

Under his breath, Evan muttered: "Dude, you know this is crazy, even for Pietro."

John shrugged uncomfortably. "Maybe." It's not as though either of them had any better ideas. Oh well, they still had the hours between, well, now, and eleven, right? Admittedly, a brilliant plan that could not fail generally took several days to concoct. Maybe Rogue would have some ideas—not that John was going to see her for the rest of the day. Kurt, maybe? Yeah, Kurt could save the day. John hoped.

* * *

Okay, I'm not certain how two boys would handle this awkward situation. Neither of them is likely to tell anyone in authority, but they both know that the consequences are too high not to try to stop it. I hope that it came across realistically in John's doubts, and inability to voice them. Was this a realistic characterization, however? It would be helpful to know.

~ MF


	38. Chapter 38: Back at the Mansion

**Author's Note:** Whoo, more of the Nates, some dropped hints, and a nervous foray into giving poor Piotr a character. Is something else going on? Hmm. Hmmm. I wonder if the assute readers will see the horrible game I'm playing. Never fear, all things will be revealed in time.

* * *

The afternoon was as sunny as the morning had been, however, that brought Jean no comfort. Well, at least she could keep Nathan and Nathaniel outside. They seemed fairly content to run around, occasionally whacking each other with sticks. In her role as a mentor, Jean felt that she should observe, but she couldn't help the fact that there was currently a whole lawn between her and the twins.

When Kurt tapped her on the shoulder, Jean practically jumped in her chair. "What?!"

"Woah, hey, touchy," Kurt told her, holding up his hands defensively. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. Are the two little boys way over there yours?"

Jean tried to calm her heart rate, and consider his question in a normal light. "They're from the SYNE program. I only have two more hours and then I'm free."

This cause Kurt to look at his housemate critically. She looked frazzled. He couldn't resist wagging a finger at her, however. "Now, now, how can you say that. You might make them think that they aren't welcome."

This statement caused Jean to stand up, her arms shaking. "Have you any idea what my day has been like? I've had to break up six fights, apologize to all of my teachers, and I've been kicked in the shins. Twice."

Kurt winced. That sounded painful. "Oh, ouch. Are they really all that bad?"

Sitting back down, Jean stared across the lawn tiredly. "Yes. Well, it's mostly Nathan. He has a very short temper, and tried to use it to get what he wants. I've had to be very strict. It's just, this isn't _fun_. I had all of these plans about how I was going to make Fridays turn into a kind of wonderful treat. Instead, here I am with my Monday homework watching over those two as they go crazy in the middle of our lawn."

Kurt spied the two trading blows with their sticks, and grinned. When he was that age, he would have given anything for a sibling to play swords with, or just a neighborhood friend. Neither of these had happened, of course, because his mother lived in a very quiet and reserved part of town.

"Maybe it's not so bad," he tried to cheer Jean up. "Look at them, they're clearly having fun."

Jean pointed with a pencil as Nathan jumped on Nathaniel's back, and started to beat him about the head. "Yeah. Fun. I'm going to go break them up."

She rose stiffly, feeling like creaky old lady Jean rather than vital young MVP Jean. However, once she got moving, she covered ground fast enough. Sliding to a halt she pulled Nathan from Nathaniel with one arm, snatching sticks away only a few seconds later.

Clearing her throat, she looked down at both young boys, who returned her stern expression with twin glares of dislike. "Haven't you had enough of that?"

The boys exchanged glances. "No."

A blur of white knocked against Nathan's head. He swung around, glaring, as Kurt stood near by, a grin on his face, and the soccer ball near his foot. "So, Jeanie here hasn't been practicing for soccer. I was thinking, you guys could whip her into shape, right?"

Brown eyes narrowed in Nathan's face, while Nathaniel obviously considered it. "You're trying to be friendly, aren't you?" Nathan was nothing if not overly suspicious.

Kurt tried to look innocent. "Me? I just want to see Jean beat by a bunch of ten year olds. It would make my day, honestly."

Nathaniel walked forward, and picked up the ball dubiously. Testing the weight, he smirked, and then punted it towards his twin's face. "Pay back time!"

Nathan's impending face sandwich was blocked by Jean's leg, as she took control of the ball. "Ah-ah. You'll have to be better than that," she taunted. "As for Kurt, some friend you are!"

The ball sailed towards Kurt's feet, and he took off with it, laughing as the three others gave chase. They tore across the lawn together, gradually passing the soccer ball back and forth.

Professor Xavier, on the terrace with his paper work spread in front of him, looked up, and smiled at the laughing sounds of the children. He looked over at his fellow instructor, only to see that the auburn haired woman was rolling her eyes.

"Come, now, Moira. Doesn't that make you feel young again?" he asked.

She favored her colleague with a dry glance. "I am young, Charles. I personally could use the quiet while going over the budget."

The professor shrugged, shuffling papers. "The early applications for the spring semester are promising. Given your little friend's school scores I think she'll fit right in. I wish I could say the same for—,"

"Give the Haller boys a chance," Doctor Mctaggart did not allow the professor to finish his sentence. "I reviewed their files, and they have the grades for this place. Just because you've run into a bit of a sticky wicket where they're concerned—,"

"Moira, please, is now the best time to make bad croquet puns?"

This made the Scottish doctor laugh. "Is there ever a good time to make bad croquet puns? But speaking of twins, I forgot to tell you, but Magnus called."

The dark eyebrows shot together. "Really? When?"

"Just after lunch," Moira collected her papers into a folder. "He wants to convince you that he should retain custody over his daughter, and that she is to remain in Ravencroft as is his wish."

Professor Xavier sighed. "You make it sound so polite and reasonable when you say it."

Smirking, the doctor rose, intending to find a quieter venue. "He sounded quite reasonable on the phone, too. However, it is the substance, not the qualities of the substance that we care about, Charles. I suppose you'll be wanting to meet with him and the Maximoffs before the week is out?"

Professor Xavier nodded. "And as the week is going to be out rather quickly, I'll have to move fast. Hopefully nothing will go wrong with the institute—it would be just like this place to get flooded right when I need to put my concentration other places," his tone spoke of a fatherly affection for an erring child, as he looked back at the family home that he had renovated and transformed into a school.

"If nothing goes wrong here, it will go wrong somewhere else," Moira predicted, dryly.

She opened the glass doors to the patio, and stepped inside the cool, climate controlled building. This was where civilization lay, after all. In the things that man had built. She sometimes had no idea how Charles managed to coax her into the pollen bearing outdoors.

Rounding the corner between the kitchen and the open hall, she nearly crashed into a preoccupied St. John.

"Careful, will you, lad?" the woman demanded, offering him a steadying hand. "Where were you off to, now? It's a fine Friday afternoon. Your friend Kurt's outside entertaining the young ones Jean brought back."

The Australian felt caught in the chair of the inquisition. Had she seen though his skull to pierce his thoughts? Did she know? Was he betraying his friendships? Raaah! His life had been way less complicated before he knew Rogue and all of her friends. Should have stuck with the people at the institute. Yeah, that's what he should have done.

But then he never would have played poker with a clever Indian girl in _The Wolverine_. They wouldn't have rescued Kitty. He wouldn't have seen Rogue take down people in a grave yard. There would have been no relaxing-slash-drama-filled afternoons at The Backs.

Oh, crap, he needed an answer ready.

"Tea cozy! I'm looking for one. Betsy told me that they didn't have 'em in America. Can you believe it? I know she's trying to have me on," John wanted to slap himself in the head. This was a teacher. You didn't tell teachers things like this. That was asking for them to get nosy, and wonder about medications.

Moira sighed. "You have a lot of homework to do, don't you?"

John looked for an out on slightly saner ground. "Yeah. Lots. Tons. This weekend, anyway. But I'm gonna find out the answer to this mystery first. Be seeing you!" he legged it towards the stairs.

The dorm hallway was surprisingly quiet. John was able to able along at his own pace, stopping only when he could not move further because of a monumental obstruction. That obstruction was Piotr's back, which hunched over a huge paper tapped to a bigger board. John found himself looking down a penciled replica of the hall, all the doors at the proper intervals, and the sunny window at the end showing a full view of the institute grounds. Lying on her stomach, reading a copy of _Robin Hood: Collected Ballads of the Prince of Thieves_, Betsy helped to take up what space was left.

St. John grinned, imagining the reaction he would receive for walking on Betsy's back to get to his room. If he had both legs by the end of it, he would have been very surprised. He also would have a legitimate excuse for not helping Pietro.

However, he would be shorter than Kurt, which would invite endless embarrassment. So he should probably remain with all limbs attached for now—unless he could convince Betsy to take just an arm, maybe? No, no, things would not work that way.

Peering over Piotr's shoulder very quietly, and wait until the absorbed artists noticed looked as though it would be fun. If John was very still he might cause his Russian housemate to jump out of his skin. That would be hilarious.

However, Piotr was clearly more observant than the Austrialian had every suspected. "John do you have a suggestion?"

"Yahhh! How'd you know I was there?"

Piotr turned to look at the orange haired boy with a smug grin. "Betsy—what do you call it?"

"Ninja skills," the purple haired goth turned a page in her book with a private grin.

The Russian nodded. "Ninja skills. Yeah. But, a suggestion, John?"

Johnny considered the picture. "Um, a little demon thing hanging from the ceiling by his tail? Or a person flying in the air out of the window? Or maybe a circle of light with someone stepping through it? Oh! A dragon. There should totally be a dragon!"

Piotr essayed a few scribbles in the shadow that a hall table made. Suddenly John was looking at a small winged reptile peeking around the table leg. Another few scribbles and a vaguely human shape was emerging from the wall near by, looking around in confusion.

Struck by a creepy brainwave, St. John couldn't help adding: "Make that Kitty."

Betsy looked over, interested. "Hey, good idea, Johnny. That dragon looks a lot like her stuffed toy. Piotr—what's she doing? Isn't there a wall there?"

Piotr shrugged. "Katya always says that she wishes she could sink through the floor. Why not float through a wall, yeah?"

There was a plummeting feeling in John's stomach. This was a little creepy. On the other hand—maybe his story was spilling over into real life. That would be cool, actually. Well, except for the part where Lance was a rough, angry, morally suspect, and supremely powerful. Oh, and where Rogue was sad, confused, and constantly scared. That would be unpleasant to explain. Sorry, I wrote you that way.

"Awesome, Petey. But, um, I was trying to get to my room, so," John managed to hop through the space created, as Piotr leaned good-naturedly to the side. "Thanks!" He continued towards his room, but stopped thoughtfully. Piotr was on the level. "Hey, Petey?"

"Yeah?" Piotr looked up, his expression a caricature of attentiveness. John grinned wistfully, realizing that Piotr was currently in whatever land inspired artists. "Nothing. Just, if your friend was doing something stupid, would you stop them?"

Piotr bit the end of his pencil. "What kind of friend? Older brother kind—you stop them. You have to for the good of both of you. The younger sister kind, those are harder to stop, so you just have to hope that you can keep them from getting hurt."

John tried to categorize Pietro. Younger sister certainly was not what he would label the Maximoff boy. That would be twisted. But Pietro was not exactly a role model older-brother type, either. And he did seem kind of hard to stop. These questions were _hard_ to answer.

But John did not think that he could keep Pietro from doing something really stupid, so that left option two, he guessed. Grinning painfully, he waved at Piotr. "Yeah, thanks for that, mate."

As the orange haired boy dashed for his room, Betsy looked after him. "Hey, what do you think that was about?"

Piotr shrugged. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

"To me?" Betsy asked thoughtfully, thinking of the Kitty situation of last week. "Maybe."

* * *

So, did that work for Piotr's character? I don't feel as though I have a very good handle on Evo-Colossus, and thus, I am a nervous chicken, who has not really written him in before now. However, I have plans for him, come November, so I thought I should start playing with him more.

Oh, and I haven't done this in a long time, but I read a fantastic story last week. Search for "Dark Machinations" by AnimeMaster24. Give it a read, and pass along a little concrit. It'll make a world of difference.

~ MF


	39. Chapter 39: Playing with Matches

**Author's Note:** I haven't gotten to do anything really comic book-y in a long while with this fic. That probably is the most depressing reality of SSP. Sometimes I need caped crusaders, and I'm writing about whiny school kids. But my favorite caped crusaders _are_ whiny school kids (Hellion is going to make a _brilliant_ full-time superhero some day--if Fraction does not write him back to the stone age. Give him back to Yost and Kyle! Although I see why they can't use him on X-Force, as on their run of New X-Men they made him the guy who said, "no, we don't kill." They'd have to mess with their own character development to get him to go black ops--not that they did not mess with Rahne's character to get her to go black ops). But I digress.

A lot of people claim that they don't like powerless AUs because the X-Men are about the powers. Yes they are teenagers, but their powers force them into situations normal teenagers couldn't deal with, and only their powers allow them to deal with those situations. I see the other side of the coin. People get pushed into hard situations, and they have to make their decisions as normal people. Just because they're packing a bazooka behind each eyeball does not mean that they would make the basic decision any differently than they would if they were not. The Cyclopses of the Marvel world just have some different options than the Clint Bartons (the totally human and still kicking ass before and after death via Scarlet Witch disintegration, thank you very much). Powerless does not, and should not mean skilless, talentless, or that real life situations cannot escalate out of control as badly as a battle with Proteus.

That said, crazy events that make superhero worlds work are not as likely to have analogues in an AU. I am concentrating on an AU story where I can't write exciting adventures of the Golden Age! into the plot and expect my characters to swallow it. But occasionally story arcs like this one come along, and suddenly it feels as though I'm writing for a fully powered universe. It's brilliant. It can be done in a powerless AU. Admittedly, it took quite a while to build to this point. Still, I got there.

* * *

The cloudless day had turned to an overcast, darkly dismal night. John surveyed the sky once more, thinking that it was a clear omen. He should not be doing this. Instead of listening to his better sense, though, here he was, standing in cold, wet grass, eying the brick wall that ran around Professor Xavier's property. John was not going to win any track and field records, but Betsy had mentioned that there was portion of the wall by the small wooded area where the bricks were in less than good repair.

Unfortunately, he was not seeing the black holes for footholds that he had expected. There was a whole lot more bush and undergrowth involved, though. Maybe he would get lucky, and get defeated by nature. It was already past the ten o'clock curfew. When Pietro showed up at school tomorrow, looking betrayed, John could legitimately say that he had not been able to get out of the Institute. Yeah, that sounded good.

Turning around confidently, John was about to walk back to the his room when he smacked into something fairly soft and human.

"Like, ow! Watch it!" Kitty collided with a trunk, as John hastily fumbled for one of his match boxes.

Striking the sulfur dipped head and holding the light aloft, John looked at his house mate in consternation. "Kitty! What are you doing up? What are you doing here?"

Kitty waved a camera, and pointed at the gazebo that perched cat like over the sound. "I was practicing night time photography. Piotr has been teaching me. Well, not so much as practicing, but, well, you know what I mean. I was doing some night time photography. Until I heard some idiot crashing about in the brush. What are you trying to do?"

John decided to go for broke. The worst that could happen would be that Kitty would call Dr. MacTaggart. Well, that was a pretty bad "worst that could happen" but still, Kitty was a nice person, and not likely to hand him over for torture just for a silly infraction of the rules. Right? "I'm trying to sneak out and, um, meet some friends. But well, I can't get over the wall, so no—,"

Kitty interrupted him. "Oh, that's easy enough. I can show you. Strike another match—why didn't you bring a flashlight?"

John blew out the slow burning match reluctantly. It had been so pretty. "Uh, I'm not experienced with sneaking out, I guess. Hey, I was smart enough to bring matches!" He always brought matches.

"Yeah, and when you get beyond the technological advancement of the oil filled lantern I'll be impressed," Kitty grinned in the dark.

With a scrape and a small whoomph, a second match flared. Kitty took John's arm. She lead him, and more importantly, the small pool of light, to the brick wall. They searched along it, or Kitty searched, while John watched the match, fire consuming the wood, reducing it to charcoal. Kitty found the holes in the brickwork just as the starving flames nipped playfully at John's fingers.

He shook out the match, and was left blinking away purple and green blotches from his vision.

"Well, here you are," Kitty told him, also blinking in the sudden darkness. "Just toss your bag over, and then go after it."

John looked at her quizzically, although his expression was lost to the shadows. "How'd you know about this?"

"Pul-lease, Kurt takes everyone on a curfew breaking night to _Burger Bomb_ right before exams. You should try finding this place in the dark in the snow. It's awful. But it is kind of hilarious to see Jean and Scott willingly break the rules. They always look so proud of themselves. Well, I'm mean, he's only done it twice so far, but it's pretty great."

Johnny grinned, tossing his bag over the wall. "I bet the Prof is in on it."

Kitty nodded, watching the Aussie try to hoist himself over. "Probably. He just _happened_ to go to _Burger Bomb_ at eleven o'clock right before finals last year. Scott nearly went purple, but Professor X said he wouldn't remember that we had all broken curfew, if we were kind enough to forget that he had gone to a fast food restaurant. It was actually pretty cool, and nice to talk to him in a more relaxed setting than his office."

John grunted, hoisting himself to the top of the wall. "I'll remember that. See ya!"

His landing, at least, was more graceful than his accent, although his teeth rattled. Picking up his backpack once again, the young man suddenly wondered why he had brought that along with him. Was there going to be a test in the middle of a burglary?

Hmm, burglary, John pondered the word as he trotted along. In P.G. Woodehouse's classic, Jeeves advised against activities of a burglarious nature. Or did he endorse them, encouraging the hapless Mr. Wooster in the escapade of that novel? It was so hard to remember. Plots of various _Jeeves & Wooster_ books blurred together in John's mind. Hmm. Actually, Jeeves generally helped with the various asinine schemes of his employer. If Jeeves did it, then it couldn't be wrong!

But stealing from a local store was just not on the same level as stealing a silver cow creamer from some old man. Or was the line from the one where Bertie had to steal a painting for his aunt? Or did "burglarious nature" appear in the one where Bertie had to kidnap his other aunt's dog from a playwright who had taken the dog because his son liked it?

The only wisdom that St. John was really able to drag from satiric novels set in the early thirties seemed to be that having aunts was a bad idea. He did not have aunts, so that was okay. Maybe people like Betsy filled in the role, however.

Absorbed as he was in conjecture, John barely noticed how close he had come to the rendezvous point. Yellow lamp light illuminated the empty street, reflecting off picture windows of the older quaint Bayville establishments. John set down his bag under a puddle of light, and leaned against the lamp pole. It was not too long before he could hear wheels whirring on concrete.

Evan came to a perfect stop, kicking his _Barbie_ stickered skateboard into his hands.

John snickered. "You _still_ haven't gotten all of them off?"

Evan shrugged defensively. "My mom liked the one with the butterflies. And it is kinda fun seeing people think I'm a lightweight before I thrash them."

"Such violence," John tutted.

Evan smirked, before giving the empty street a suspicious appraisal. Where was Pietro? "Look, why are you here? I mean I know I'm sort of an idiot, but you're supposed to be some sort of genius, right? You have no excuse."

John sighed. "Dunno. I mean, we're gonna get caught—but could you imagine what would happen to Pietro if he tried it alone? I mean this comes under the heading of "I know what I am about to do is stupider than making a chocolate tea kettle, but if I don't do it, I can't hold my head up." Or something like that, anyway. It's weird. I mean, Pietro's not a good enough friend to do this for—but all of my other friends combined would want someone responsible to keep an eye on him. I'm not the best man for the job, but it looks like I'm the only one, you know."

Evan sighed. "I suppose that's good enough."

"What's good enough?" both boys whirled to see Pietro standing under the light, looking bored.

Running his fingers through his orange hair, St. John tried to wordlessly pass the answer ball to Evan. The skater just shrugged.

After a few more awkward seconds Pietro hissed, and turned to walk into the alley between _Keigo's Autobody_ and _Sleek Rides_ (for all of your biking needs). "Whatever, c'mon."

John and Evan shared a silent moment of sidelong glances. _We are such cowards._

"So," Pietro began conversationally, "I was thinking that we could try to get the transmission from one of the show cars that Keigo keeps around, but that might be a little hard to grab, so, any ideas?"

John stared at the boy. "You're confusing me for someone who drives."

Pietro glared back. "Oh, c'mon, you're smart. You must know something useful, Johnny-boy."

John shook his head, as Evan added: "I'm fourteen, and holding my only set of wheels. You started this. Don't you know what we're looking for?"

"Why would I know that?" Pietro grabbed the handle of the side door, and gave it a shove. The door flew open. "I have two feet to get me places. Aw, who cares? Everyone can use a new CD player, and those are easy enough to jack."

Making his way nervously into the dark garage Evan couldn't help berating himself. Helping out Pietro? What had he been thinking? First of all, it wasn't as though they were friends. Secondly, the guy could not plan to save his life. What did he expect? That the world would just let the pieces of his scheme fall into his lap. "Figures the one time you'd want to have listened to those _Car Talk_ guys is also the one time you realize that you're in trouble. Let's leave—,"

"Not so fast!" Pietro's voice was edged with glee in the darkness. "You're right, I think I can remember some stuff from Saturday mornings. John, snap on a light, would you?"

Getting out his matches once more, John stuck one, and then began to examine the walls for a light switch.

Pietro, on the other hand, was in full planning mode, much to Evan's exasperation. "Lessee, catalytic converters are under cars, and along the main tail pipe. We could grab one of those once we find some sort of cutting tool. Oh! But an alternator runs the belts of a car, and that's located in the engine block, I think—,"

"I think you're talking out your hat. Do you even know what any these things look like?" Evan pointed out dryly, before pain shot though his leg. "Ow! John, get the lights on, would you? I think I found the work bench."

As the world is a neat and delicate place, it was at about this minute that St. John found the light switch on the wall. Shaking out his match sadly, he flicked the overheads on, and stepped back to survey the garage. The half with the light switch turned out to be the place where the tools were stored in racks and strewn out over the table. A few old fuel containers were stashed behind a counter barricade, and there was a small door leading to the actual shop. Where the trio had entered, however, was the huge, open work space. A car had half ascended to the ceiling on a lift, and there was a convertible on the floor—which was what Evan had walked into.

Pietro dashed over to survey the various benches, muttering about the need for parts. St. John raised a hand. "What if we take tools, instead? Some of these must be really expensive," he waved a wrench in Pietro's general direction.

As Pietro considered the suggestion, Evan climbed a rickety staircase that seemed to wrap around the garage. Perhaps there was something up there. Besides the smell of grease and fumes was making his head feel floaty. The place was pretty cool, but there were way better things that Evan could be doing at twelve o'clock at night.

The stairs lead him to a small loft, filled with old junk, and the smell of gasoline. Looking around in the shadows, he found one grimy window looking out into the street. Curiously peering out, he saw a car pull up front, lights flashing on the roof.

"GUYS! Turn off the lights!" the freshman yelled down the stairs. "There are police out there!"

With a click, Evan was left to clatter down the stairs in the dark. His fingers brushed along the old insulation and wooden studs as the boy careened down, hopping that he didn't lose his balance and fall into the banister-less void.

From the front office, a flashlight cut through the partially open door, seeking miscreants. Someone muttered something, and a shriller voice answered: "I saw the light on, and Niko never locks up. It would be just like the kids around here to vandalize his place."

Evan crawled as stealthily as he could to where the terrified breathing of his friends could be issuing. It was hard to tell, as the mutter of voices rose and fell in the background but a short gasp as his hand came down on something like denim told the skater that he had found his compatriots. One of them grabbed his shirt, pulling him roughly forward, the skateboard under his arm scraping gently against the floor.

The boys held collective breaths, but there was no change in the voices.

"Okay, new plan, guys," Pietro hissed, figuring that the conversation in the office was sufficient cover, "we wait until they're gone, and then run for it."

With the swish of worn shoes on smoothed concrete, John realized that the voices had stopped rumbling. The door between the office and the workshop creaked slightly as it opened. "Hettie? Where's the light switch?"

"Right by the door, Captain."

Pietro grabbed the nearest thing to him, John's arm, in pure terror. He could not get caught! He had to get financial aid and scholarships next year! Why had he let Lance's bad attitude talk him into this?

John wrenched his arm away with a vicious tug, and ended up crashing into the large red plastic drums of gasoline next to them. They fell with a clatter, and in the next instant there was a horrifyingly loud click of a gun cocking.

"All right, nice and slow, you want to stand up, and keep your hands where I can see them," the policeman told the darkness calmly, trying not to laugh at the idea of seeing anything in the garage. He felt along the wall, trying to locate the light switch. There were the sounds of scuffling in the dark, and gasoline fumes were making him giddy, however, he had the perps right where he wanted them. Then he saw a small orange glow cut off from his vision by a dark chest high long rectangle.

"No, you crazy _idiot_!" someone yelled.

Someone else laughed.

The glow disappeared for a second, as two darker shapes lunged for the open shadows of the garage. Then all Captain Rogers could see was light.

Years of gasoline soaked into concrete, with a newer thin film of the flammable liquid running over the surface lit the darkness as soon as the match John had used landed. He rose in the middle of the flames, laughing like a demon, as gasoline soaked hems smouldered, and then caught. Pietro and Evan were already running from this impromptu spectacle.

Light danced with shadow, hissing and spitting in marvelous ecstasy. The fire crackled at his ankles spreading around him like a huge flower, a thing of real beauty. Words were a sublime form art that could move people to love and tears. The pinnacle of perfection was the moment when the reader could no longer see the page, when the reader transported themselves into the reading. Rapturous. The moment when words disappeared—the moment when the world was content with existence.

Fire started at that point. Fire made everything else fragile, ephemeral shadows, bowing to its dance of living light. Beauty rawly transforming everything into itself in selfish joy. Words were unnecessary for John. This was what really mattered.

"You crazy nut job! You're on fire!"

A pair of arms wrapped around his skinny frame, and hauled him clear of the bright river spreading across the garage. Something exploded. The shock caused the strong man to falter. John slumped to the floor, and rolled. The hungry flames dipped, dying in protest. Someone else grabbed his arm again.

John went with inertia, allowing his second rescuer to pull him from the garage. After a few seconds he managed to make it to a shambling run. Agony seemed to be running from his ankles in cracking red waves. Nine feet into the alley, he collapsed. The fire was probably dying down—there had not been that much gasoline spilled. He wanted to stay and watch it forever. Instead, here he was, lying face down, broken glass poking into his cheek. His rescuer stared at him.

"Okay. Okay. Okay. Can you keep going? The cops will be swarming all over. I can already hear the firetrucks. We have gotta get moving."

John peered blearily at the young man standing over him. "Evan? But we gotta save that police man. I'm good for it, promise. He saved me. Gonna make him a hero. The best there ever was."

Daniels looked around nervously. John was clearly not in the land of the normal right now. Maybe he'd inhaled something weird. There had been a lot of paint cans and chemicals that probably did not react well to fire.

"Hurry up already!" Pietro dashed down the alley to the slumped shadows. "There are rescue workers all over the place, we gotta get to safety. If you two slowpokes don't move it, you're gonna get caught!"

Evan tried to pick up John once more. He was smaller than the fire starter, but John did not weight that much. Still, Pietro running around insulting him did not make the boy weigh any less. "Hey! I got him out of there rather than running like a scared rabbit! He needs medical help."

Pietro went livid as the observation his home. "I didn't run away!"

"Yes, you did! Or was that some other guy who shoved past me to get out the door! There's even a real hero still in that death trap!"

The dim view that Evan had of Pietro's face wasn't enough to make out the details, but it did seem to contort for a few moments. Then the boy was just gone.

Evan breathed out, wanting to sink in the ground. He was suck in the back alley with a burned and delirious crazy boy, all alone, with the cops all around. What on earth was he supposed to do?

John coughed, struggling to his feet. "I know a place. I think. It's where we hang out all the time. Either Lance or Todd is prolly gonna be sleeping there. They can figure ow—," he crashed against a wall as his throbbing ankles nearly gave out on him, "out how to fix this. Just along Yost Lane, and then up the alley, and then—then, I'll remember when we get there."

"Got it," Evan nodded."You need my help?"

John grinned, although the sunniness was lost in the gloom. "I'm gonna make you a hero, too."

"Whatever, man, let's go."

The boys ran and lipped towards the street. Further down the alley, at the smoking hole of _Keigo's_ side door, Pietro was coughing. He peered inside once again, trying to make out any figures in the flames. He did not run away. Well, he did. But that was not _his_ fault. He did not deserve to be blamed. How should he have known that Johnny-boy was slow?

"Hey, anyone in there?"

Sirens blared up and down the street, but Pietro thought that he saw something lying on the floor. Venturing in cautiously, the white-haired boy crouched. If no one was in there, they couldn't see him looking like such a dork, and if someone was, then they'd already been overcome by the smoke. Most of the fires had burned themselves out, anyway. The concrete was hot under his hands and knees, but the thick black smoke was above his head, and that was all that mattered. This was just like the "in case of fire" lessons that he had learned too late.

The slumped figure of a full grown man groaned and rolled on his side. "Hello?" Anything further was broken by an intense fit of coughing.

Pietro did not bother with introductions. For one thing, he would probably end up dying. They were only a few feet from the exit. "Keep down. The smoke's awful. C'mon, c'mon. Get moving already. Almost there!"

Slow codger. Pietro wanted to hit something in his frustration at the less than fully capable.

He began to back toward the door again. After a moment, the coughing policeman followed. It was the most agonizing thirty two seconds of Pietro's life. He had many half minutes of agony to compare with, as well. However, soon the man emerged, soot streaked and still coughing, but alive and unharmed.

Pietro was already concentrating on the approaching police officers. The firemen were moving carefully past the two. Pietro did not bother to tell them that the fire was almost done. It was not his job, and he was looking for an out, himself. Quickly, he slipped through two firemen.

A policeman came up to the coughing captain, and pounded the man on the back. "You doing okay, Rogers?"

"Yeah," the police captain cleared his throat. "The boy who came out with me. Where'd he get to?"

"What? I didn't see him. Probably headed for the ambulance."

Captain Rogers shook his head, not happy with the conclusion he was coming to. The thin laughing boy in the dark had light hair, and as the kid who had come back for him moved, Rogers had caught a glint of pale hair in the street light. It might have been a burglary gone wrong. There had been two others, there, after all. But that laughter, and the way the fire had lit the boy's eyes—Captain Rogers had seen things like that before.

Arson was a terrifying crime. The fact that the boy had come back to look for any potential smoke victims stated that at least he probably was not a bad person. But still, that just meant that a kid who was slightly sick in the head and needed help was going to run into the full force of the criminal justice system instead. Hopefully, the boy was under eighteen. Things would be easier for him, when they caught him. And they would catch him. Steve Rogers was not about to let an arsonist start a spree in Bayville.

The blonde man sighed. "Williams, get me to some sort of database, or a sketch artist, or something. The fire was—hopefully it was just an accident, but I've seen arsonists at work. If he's just beginning, it's best that we find him fast. We're looking for a young guy, 15 to 17, from what I saw. He's tall, but still gotta catch up with his growth. Really light hair. I thought it was a little wild back in the garage, but on the street in better light it was definitely slicked back. That's our kid. We need to find him."

Simon Williams grinned humorlessly. "Hey, he's probably local. We can start by checking with the high school if any weird fires have been set."

The captain nodded. It was as good a place as any to start.

* * *

So, Quickie ended up getting more of an _Avengers_ Quickie feel this chapter. I'd like to say that _Evo_ Quickie could be goaded into doing the right thing, but _No Good Deed_, while a brilliant episode, says that no, at this point in his development, 'Tro is a selfish coward. This Quickie is more of a synthesis of those two. It has been noted that Pyro often seems to be more like Legacy Virus infected hero Pyro than _Evo_ Pyro. I like to mix and match. As long as the characters are consistent for this universe, where I draw my inspirations from probably does not matter. Speaking of consistent, like Pietro's stealing, I've been hinting that Pyro has this lurking under his surface. It was cathartic to finally bring out the inner Pyro. Crazy _Evo_ Pyro who laughs as he chases people with flaming horses has been missing from this fic, and he finally showed up. It was wonderful.

Plugging for the Season 5 C2. I'm trying to revive it, so I'm looking for any post end of series stories. I've added some new ones recently, and have been casting around. If you're looking for those kinds of stories, I think there's a link in my bio.

Anyway, now that you've gotten some insight to my characterization choices, perhaps you'd like to drop me a line about your thoughts, or a clarification. Review, please.

~ MF


	40. Chapter 40: Dislike

**Author's Note:** Some of you might be wondering what happened to the chapter number. Did we go back in time? No. I just finally managed to revamp the first four chapters of SSP, and consolidated them into one. The dialogue is still a little starchy, but it's looking better than it did, way back in 2004. I'll slowly be doing this to all of the pre-hiatus chapters (very slowly) so, be ready for occasional jumps backward. Is anything really new about these new chapters? Not really. I have a better handle on the characters now, so some of the motivations are clearer, and more polished.

* * *

Evan panted as he pushed open the rotten gate. The house was not that far from the crime scene, but he had been supporting John in intermittent bursts, and the Australian seemed to gain five pounds for every foot they traveled. Now it had to be well past twelve, but had this been a regular home, Evan would have at least expected one light on, as someone stayed up late working, or breaking curfew.

"You sure this is the place, man?" He asked, looking at the dim shadows of the yard, and the looming house with skepticism.

John nodded, trying not to think about the pain in his ankles. Ankle pain was not nice. He would also have to find some reason to explain to Dr. MacTaggart why his pants were burned below the knee. Theoretical pain of detention was not a more interesting topic of contemplation.

Leaning on Evan's shoulder as a crutch was the best option right now. The two would-be thieves managed to make it across the yard, only tripping over one tire, the impact of which sent John screaming in pain. It was a testament to the kind of neighborhood that they were in when no windows opened, or lights clicked on in response to the noise.

Evan winced, but picked John of the ground. Their hobbled march made it to the front door, and then into the shadowed house. Floorboards creaked and groaned with their weight. In the dark hall, the noises of the house became more pronounced. Especially the snoring coming from one of the upper rooms.

Trying not to shiver in the eerie silence, Evan helped John along the hall. "Where's the light switch?"

The Australian was not quiet certain. Did it really matter when the house was not hooked into the grid? "There's no electricity here. Hey, just bring me to the kitchen. We can work out what to do from there."

They managed to make it, under John's slurred directions, and Evan's power. Depositing John on something soft, and vaguely couch shaped, Evan tried to survey the domain. All he could really see were shadows and various shades of gray indicating a counter space and possibly a refrigerator.

John breathed carefully, whining as he tried to move his legs. "Evan—check upstairs. If that's Lance, he might have a flashlight, or something. Eech, this hurts."

The skater nodded, perfectly happy to get away from the smell of gasoline, and seared skin. He trotted into the hallway once more, but the progress to the staircase was more cautious. Getting to the second floor was a careful display of choreography. Finally, making his way along the landing to the door vibrating with rumbling snores took about all of Evan's courage.

He knocked.

The rumbled ceased, and then a sleep head thrust itself out of the door, flashlight in hand. Clicking it on, Lance jumped back in surprise at seeing a freshman he did not know that well in his house. Well, not his house, but where he was choosing to sleep.

"What are you doing here, Dan—,"

Evan, still trying to get his heart to stop pumping at a mile a minute, held out a hand to interrupt the older boy. "John, downstairs, there was a fire, and he's hurt. Uh. Do you have first aid? Or a light?"

Lance waved the flashlight dumbly, and then reached behind him for a pair of pants. He was downstairs with the flashlight and a concerned expression on his face in under a minute. John waved weakly, allowing Lance to pull up the scorched hems of his jeans. With a light shining on them, Evan suddenly wanted to retch.

The ankles and further up his legs were covered in shiny tan blisters. Some had broken open, revealing raw flesh and pinkness covered in viscous fluid.

Lance sucked in his breath. "Okay, that isn't all that pretty," the teen admitted. Inside his head panic bells thundered. Okay. Okay. He had no idea what to do. But Evan also had no idea what to do. Okay. Okay. Keep a calm head. "I don't think that I have anything for something like this. I've never dealt with anything more than a discharge burn. Um, he's not going into shock, or anything, is he?"

John shook his head in reply. "Nope. You know me, unshockable. Just, it really, really, really hurts."

Lance grimaced. "Look, I know a place with a first aid kit. I'll get it, and see what we can do. Uh, you, Evan, try to, um, find ice, or something. I wish this place had some electricity."

"Right," Evan's salute was a clenched fist.

Lance took it as all the encouragement he could expect to receive, and ran out the door. Marie was going to kill him if John was seriously injured and he hadn't done anything about it. Then Betsy would probably have a go. Why did every crappy circumstance always fall on his shoulders? Well, better that he'd been here so he could run for help, than someone else.

The streets were not deserted, even at this inhospitable hour. Fire engines and ambulances have that effect on any town center, no matter how sleepy. Lance wondered briefly if he should have demanded an explanation, as another siren snarled along the Bayville roads. However, John did not look as though he was going anywhere, and once Lance had helped him, there would be "good guy brownie points" to spend.

Fumbling with his keys he skidded to a halt in front of _The Wolverine_. At two am, all bars were legally required to shut. But from the light streaming forth from the windows it was not yet passed two. That was something, anyway. Stuffing his keys back into his jeans, Lance flung open the door.

A few cops looked up from their drinks. Ms. Danvers gave him an elegant nod of disapproval. "James, your boy is here."

Lance wanted to snarl that he was no one's boy, but honestly did not dare. Instead he marched up to the counter, hoping that he looked as though he belonged there even without the black canvas apron. "Um, Mr. Logan? I was wondering if I could borrow your first aid kit?"

The dark eyes nailed him to the floor, as Logan stopped polishing the beer glass in his hands. "Why?"

Lance cleared his throat. "One of my friends got into—well, actually, I'm not clear what happened, but he's on my couch and badly burned. Knowing Johnny, he probably failed at lighting a bonfire with his dork squad, but whatever. I gotta do something. I was hoping I could borrow the first aid kit?"

Reaching under the bar, Logan pulled the white plastic container into view. "Exie!"

Her dark head popping out of the back, Exie came forward balancing a veritable Pisa of boxes on one hand. Lance managed the life saving measure of not mentioning that he would have been yelled at for not handling the boxes safely in both hands.

Logan's head jerked at his panting employee. "Go with him. One of his friends could use the hand, and I don't think that Rocker Boy here is competent enough to do it right."

"Gee, thanks," Lance muttered, as Exie set her boxes on the wooden floor. "And, er, any extra lights you've got would always be appreciated."

Logan jerked his head to the bar, and Exie retrieved two flashlights, and a box of candles. She just gave Lance a single look that said everything. Her father was right, as always.

The two kids walked out of the bar into the night. Exie stuck her hands in her apron pockets. "Where are we going?"

"It's a place called The Backs," Lance's reply was brusque. He did not want a lot of questions asked, or ridicule heaped upon his shoulders.

Exie, for her part, thought things over, and then asked: "You said you were staying there?"

Brown eyes shot her way in the night, and suddenly Lance felt a huge burst of appreciation for both Rogue and Pietro's desires to keep their lives to themselves. The answer to this question sounded whiny and silly.

However, Lance was not one to hide, so he answered: "Yeah. I haven't wanted to go home for the past few days, and now it's the weekend, I won't be missed. Anyway, there are beds and stuff."

Exie nodded. "You should have told us. We could have put you up."

That, right there, that was Bayville for you. Lance almost grinned. No thought, no worry about consulting Logan, simply Exie saw a problem, and would offer the best solution that she could. She did not ask why, and she did not really care. Or at least, she could keep her curiosity to herself. Lance could tell her in his own time.

In his own time. Crap. He hadn't been doing that part very well, had he? He was lucky that Rogue had been grounded all week, so she couldn't hit him for being a jerk. Still, he'd get better. He promised himself that much. Even if it meant apologizing to Pietro. Aw crap.

Realizing that the silence of his epiphany might be taken for accent, Lance tried to come up with an answer for Exie that kept that girl at arm's length. "Nah. I like it this way. For one thing, I don't have to worry about anyone else's schedules. You'd probably wake me up at the buttcrack of dawn."

The short girl smirked. "I'd make you run laps. You have to work for your breakfast around our place," they lapsed into silence as another police car cruised past. Exie stared after it. That was quite a lot of police cars. What had happened? Obviously not something big enough to hit _The Wolverine_'s crowd yet, but it could only be a matter of time, she supposed. "But if you need help, we can see to things, you know."

Lance shrugged, as they turned into the network of alleys needed to reach the old building. "I'm good. It's not as though my house has burned down, or anything. The only real problem is that this place isn't hooked up to the grid and paid for."

"Hence the flashlights," Exie nodded knowledgeably.

They walked on, Lance wondering where his sense of urgency had gotten lost. He had sprinted to _The Wolverine_, terrified that John was going to die or something, and now he was just striding along, not too badly worried. But he had a first aid kit, and light with him now. A lot of things looked less grim once you were prepared for them.

The Backs seemed to rise from the night, a small light bobbing in the kitchen windows. Exie looked at the building critically as Lance pulled open the gate. "This place is a dump."

"You're telling me. Mind the tires," Lance walked up the path, expertly avoiding the various hazards that left to prevent others from stumbling upon the treasure that was the house. Exie jumped over one tired pile to land on something crunchy just behind him.

Lance looked over his shoulder. "Yeah, mind the broken glass—what?"

Just as he opened the door, voices became audible, and clearly angry.

"You got us into this mess, and you can't even apologize?! That is it!"

Lance's eyes widened, and he sprinted into the house. Unfortunately, he was the one without a flashlight, and he hit a wall on the way past. However, the living room kitchen area was lit well enough to reveal John grimacing as two figures strove back and forth.

Without a second though, Lance dove between the two, pushing them apart. Evan's hands sought the air desperately for his victim, while the boy he had been all but throttling moved to get a healthy distance from him attacker.

Lance just glared, letting his hands drop, as he saw that the fight was not likely to happen. More light, provided by Exie appearing, and clicking on her flashlight, revealed Pietro in prime smirk against the counter, and then sweeping over the other boys to John.

Lance let Exie past, not certain if he should help, or just hand over the first aid kit, and then take Pietro to town. Alvers had no real idea about what had happened, but he suspected that Evan had the right of it. Pietro was the kind of person to show up in the middle of a mess with an innocent expression on his face, just three steps ahead of the righteously angry mob.

This in mind, Lance mutely handed the white plastic box to Exie, who examined John with a critical eye.

"You're in trouble," the young girl told him bluntly, setting her flashlight on the arm of the chair, and popping the lid of the first aid box. "Because some of your blisters broke open, I can't run water or ice over those ankles. At least your shoes kept the worst of the fire from your feet. Anyway, all I can do is bandage you up. So, while I'm doing that, tell me how you got like this."

John whimpered, as her hands rolled up his pant legs even further, making them press against the edges of inflamed skin. "Did you have to do that?"

The look that Exie shot him was harsher for the lines and shadows jumping on her face. "_If_ the blisters hadn't popped, we could put ice on these. As it is, you get gauze, and told to stay off it for a while. Now, how did this happen?" the girl repeated relentlessly.

Business-like, Exie began to unroll the gauze, keeping John pinned under her dark eyed glare. He was going to tell her why he was courting massive burn scarring or she was going to make this much more painful for him, and keep him from seeing Marie ever again. She suspected that lazy writers were bad influences, in any case.

John wished that there was someone less competent looking after him. Exie could probably bandage, and listen to him all at the same time. However, the rise and fall of arguing voices between Lance, Pietro, and Evan were covering most of the noise. Anyway, it was not as though it was a huge secret. Given his appearance, the events had to be pretty obvious.

"Er, I kinda was playing with petrol, and um, well, my matches, and while it was very pretty, er, I kinda, well, forgot safety first. Um. Yeah. And I might have lit my pants on fire. By accident. Usually I'm much more careful!" the red head assured the pixie-like Exie.

Her eyes narrowed, and a bandage pulled more tight than snug. "Usually?"

John's smile scuttled nervously across his face, losing itself in the shadows. "Er—is this a problem?"

"You lighting things on fire? Yeah. That's a problem," Exie told him flatly.

John felt worry crawling down his spine. "Really? How much of a problem?"

Exie's attention was on his ankle, rewrapping the tight bandage, as Lance screamed: "You did what?!"

Exie, however, did not blink an eyelash. "It's a large problem. I think you know that already. You only pretend to be stupid."

John looked over as Pietro stabbed his finger into Lance's chest, arguing too swiftly to understand. He didn't like the idea that Exie saw his occasional hobby as a problem. He suspected that she could make life very unpleasant for anyone who she thought of as problematic. "I haven't set one for over two years, honest!" he winced away from the whining note in his voice. "Please. I'm getting better. Pietro just needed a distraction, and there was gasoline, and I had matches, and it all seemed to come together—,"

"John? Do yourself a favor and shut up," Exie said, just as the voices reached a crescendo of: "And you, Daniels, why didn't you stop this hollow headed idiot?!"

Short, dark, and furious, Exie strode over to the three boys. "Do you want me to skin you _all_ alive? Your friend has managed to burn himself, and I don't know what is going on, but you have _clearly_ messed up, big time. I'm going back home now. John is fine—just don't let him walk very far for a few days. And you had better get your stories straight, because there will be questions, and if you leave it to Johnny-boy to answer them, you won't see the light of day."

Evan looked confused, although this was giving way to suspicion. Just who was this chick? "Er—what do you care?"

Exie rolled her eyes. "Lance works for my father, and I need him to continue working, not get charged as an accessory to whatever stupid thing you all did."

She strode past them, and out of the house. The lanes back to _The_ _Wolverine_ were easy enough to find. Less so was Exie's conscience. She should have ordered John taken to ha hospital, and then let the authorities sort out whatever had occurred. It was not as though she knew any of them, besides Lance, very well. But they were all Marie's friends (besides that boy with the skateboard), and if Exie believed in anything, she believed in protecting her family. Which meant protecting Marie's friends, even if they were on the wrong side of the law.

The real question was whether she should tell her father what had transpired. The fact that the kangaroo boy was quite likely a pyromaniac was news, but was it news that Marie needed to be protected from, or exposed to? Moreover, what about the Maximoff boy? He was the instigator, and a trouble maker—that friendship needed to be broken, in Exie's humble opinion.

She reached the warm glow of light streaming from the bar, and paused, feeling her canvas apron. She had forgotten the flashlight and candles at The Backs. Oh well, she could get them in the morning. From the number of cars on the street tonight was going to be busy until closing time, with was still and hour and a half away.

About to head to a side door, a newcomer in a fedora and raincoat held open the main door for the short girl. With a muttered thanks, Exie brushed past him into the bar.

Many of the cops from earlier had cleared out, but several had just come off shift, including Captain Rogers. He was at the bar, talking with Logan in a low voice. Noticing soot marking his skin and clothes, Exie sidled closer.

Steve, however, did not notice her, and continued his narrative. "So the kid made sure I got out. Then he disappeared. It's a problem, and it got worse."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "How, exactly, could nearly burning down you and _Keigo's_ get worse?"

Rogers grimaced. "Paint tins and turpentine with a small fire burning underneath them plus a fusebox. We thought that the fires had pretty much gone out on their own, with the help of the hoses. Then, about ten minutes after I was out, the place just exploded. No one was hurt, but we've got to catch him. You know a lot of the kids around here. Know any skinny kids with pale blonde hair? He had it pretty well brushed for someone who just started a fire, and ran."

Exie set her jaw, as she unobtrusively slid the first aid kit into it's proper place.

The tall man in the fedora, who had opened the door for her, came over to the bar, removing the hat to reveal shiny white hair. Rogers stared at him suspiciously. Hard blue eyes returned the expression.

"Am I interrupting something?" the older man inquired.

Logan grunted, surveying the bar for Victor. "Nothing much, Lensherr. Surprised to see you back in town, though. If you want Creed, he's over playing pool."

The man nodded, and walked over to the hulking man.

Rogers looked after him. "That man looks very familiar."

Logan shrugged. "You might have seen his son around. Pietro Maximoff? He's on most of the sports teams, and doing the teen rebellion thing for all he's worth, according to rumor. Anyway, Pietro's the spitting image of Erik Lensherr—or he will be once he gets over his growth spurts. Can't say I'm happy to see Erik around here. One of my friends might be in trouble."

Rogers' blue eyes flicked to the pool table, where Erik and Victor were in low intense discussion. "Creed?"

"Nah," Logan bit off. "Creed can handle himself. Xavier. They go way back, and there's a huge mess coming down the pike involving the Lensherrs. Hey, squirt, what was the problem?"

Exie felt caught. To tell, or not to tell. Rogers was right there. If she said anything he would probably be able to piece together the puzzle and then John would be locked up. Or any of the other boys at The Backs. On the other hand, Rogers was fair, and this might help Exie get around the awkward conversation with Marie. Not only that, the young girl realized, she did not actually have to sell anyone down the river that she did not like.

"John got hurt in some sort of accident while he was hanging around with Pietro," she replied in her usual brusque manner. "Apparently Pietro started a small fire which got out of control before they could put it out all the way."

Logan fixed her with his eyes, as Rogers suddenly looked thoughtful. "Really, where is this Pietro?" the policeman asked.

Exie shrugged, looking at her father. "Do you know his home address?"

"Yeah," Logan nodded. "He lives by Ororo's place. But you're not thinking—,"

Rogers looked his old friend squarely in the eyes. "You said the boy is the spitting image of his father. What if what I thought was blond was really white? Any kid hitting his growth would be gangly enough to pass for skinny. I've gotta check this out. And his friend who got hurt was with him, you say?"

Exie was beginning to wonder if she had not stepped a little too far over the line with her rush to implicate Maximoff. Still, in for the sheep, in for the ram, or however that expression went. "Yeah. John—Marie's friend? I think you've met him. Don't know where he lives though."

"He's from up at the Institute," Logan told Rogers. "You going to head up there?"

The captain checked the nearest clock. "At this time of night? They probably wouldn't take too kindly to it. I'll pay the Maximoffs a visit, though."

It did not pay to annoy people from a family like Xavier's. But some no names who lived next to a disrespectable public school teacher? They sounded as though annoying them would bring the fewest repercussions. He left the bar, as Exie polished glasses furiously, not certain if she had set the right thing in motion. Erik Lensherr also watched the Captain leave, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

* * *

So, there is a thickening plot (it's always thickening, isn't it?) and some more Exie. We have to keep in mind, she is only thirteen or so. For all that she acts a lot older, this little girl is still, well, a little girl. Was her decision a good one? Also, to cut down on the length of my author's notes, plus every thought I might have about a given chapter, I'm opening a forum for my work. Come, lurk, post, do whatever you do on forums.

~ MF


	41. Chapter 41: Standing Aside

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the insanely long delays. This chapter was very difficult to write, even with a fixed computer. I'm not good at the connective tissue parts of the plot. I finally completed it, but it's short, and I'm sorry about that. I hope to make it up to everyone next week.

* * *

The boys were still bickering as the sun peeped over the window. John glanced at it nervously. Saturday morning that it was, someone at the Institute was going to wonder where his cheery self had hidden.

"Look, guys, we've gone in a circle six times now," he ventured, before Lance's glare made him shut his mouth.

The stocky boy pulled his fingers through brown hair in another irritated effort to think of a way out of the situation. "Look, hopefully Fred and Todd are going to arrive soon. They'll be able to give us—you three—alibis, after we explain what's going on. You know Pietro, this is not how to get me to feel warm and fuzzy towards you again."

The pale boy smirked. "Hey, you're talking to me, aren't you?"

"Only because it's slightly more productive than strangling you," Lance muttered. He turned to Evan. "Look, you have no part of this. We know Johnny and 'Tro were seen, you can just skate off. The fewer complications to this story, the better."

Evan shook his head. "No way, man. I'll—,"

A tentative knock interrupted him. Pietro darted to the hallway, ready to grab the door. Lance called out after him: "Could the two wanted criminals _not_ show their noses to the public before we've figured out what to do?"

Pietro's feet skidded on the worn floor boards. The suggestion was almost intelligent, not that the athlete would admit it. Trying to save a bit of face by mocking Lance, Pietro checked that he was still in full view of the kitchen. Exasperation visibly etched itself all over Lance's face, giving his theatrically minded friend reason to grin. Pietro descended into a smooth bow, gesturing at the door. Shoving himself to his feet, Lance almost groaned. He felt like an old man. One of those crotchety ones who yelled at kids playing in over grown back lots that were part of his property.

Pulling open the door, once he was certain that the noticeable teen had retreated to some shadows to lurk out of sight, Lance cracked open the door. Before him, Tod and Fred cluttered the door step pushing each other in an imitation of playfulness. Lance just looked at them, completely uncomprehending.

"How did you guys know?"

Fred looked at Lance. Warning alarms sounded in the back of his head as he assessed the darker boy's expression and came up with "worried." It was not a good expression to see on Lance's face. The would be car mechanic did not give them more time than the prerequisite few seconds to somehow mentally put all of the pieces of evidence together. One moment Fred and Todd were outside, the next, Lance had them by their t-shirts, and hauled them in.

"Okay," the door slammed shut behind them. "Todd, you remember our rights with the police, right? 'Cause Pietro just landed all of us in a major vat of trouble, with a side order of dipping sauce."

This speech, panicked and given at a Pietro-like speed took a little time for Todd to process fully. Fred was still trying to figure out what it was that Lance wanted, by the time his greasy compatriot managed to stutter out some form of answer.

"Well, yeah, as long as we don't invite 'em in, or do anything to give 'em probably cause, they can't come in without a warrant. But, um, at the Backs, we're squatters, and I don't know if that counts any more. Plus, you make life harder for the wrong police division, and they _will_ find pot, or coke, or heroin when they get in here. That Commander Trask guy hasn't got any love for people like us."

Lance, too busy thinking of other things, like what he was going to say. "We don't have any drugs here," he waved away the implication distractedly. "What are we going to do?"

"Separate and go our own ways, looks like," Evan said after a moment's silence. "What can we do? I mean, we could all say that we were hanging out here all evening, but unless there are witnesses agreeing with that who ain't us, how's going to hold up in court, you know?"

Glumly, the boys looked at various shoes. Fred, thinking along with the rest, managed to voice his nerves. "What if this is it? What'll we do?"

Lance shrugged, another angry rumble of mountainous shoulders. "Go to school. Drop out. Get a job. Go to jail. Who cares? I mean, really, who really cares what happens to us?"

Todd raised a quivering hand. "Um, what did Pietro do?"

"Try to steal some junk from _Keigo's_ and then John lit the building on fire with the police inside," Pietro tried to shrug off the implications of the evening onto John's shoulders. This was so not his fault.

From the sofa, Johnny had the nerve to call out for paper and pen. The other five ignored him, still studying the hallway. Evan put his skateboard down. "Um, what if—look, I could go drop over by Auntie O's, and check on Pietro's folks. If they've already got visited by the police, then I could report back, right? And, um, Todd could well, check with Xavier's place. Then we could move Johnny back home with no-one the wiser, if we're in luck."

Pietro swung on him, growling. "No one's bringing Xavier into this mess! That old man ain't got anything to do with it."

"'Cept for the fact Johnny lives under his roof," Todd pointed out. "Me'n Fred'll bring him back directly. As far as I can see, we're the only ones not under a huge cloud of suspicion."

About to protest, Pietro suddenly found himself shoved against the wall. Lance pressed one hand against the skinny chest, but he didn't bother to look at his former friend. "Good idea Todd. John's not fit to walk anywhere on his own. Evan, get to it."

Pietro struggled fruitlessly as Todd and Fred nearly ran into the Kitchen, and Evan did run out of the house. His captor's breathing suddenly became the loudest noise in the emptying shell of the house. The fingers dug into the tight micro weave of Pietro's shirt, waiting for the screen door to the kitchen to slam shut. Then Lance dropped the hand.

Without that support, Pietro fell to the rotting floorboards in a tangle of pale limbs. His shorter friend gazed down at him, poorly contained fire dancing in angry brown eyes. "Don't even think about selling any of us to the police if you get caught."

"I'd never—," fury rose up in the athlete's voice.

Lance nearly kicked him. "I don't know what you would do, Pietro. I don't know what you're capable of anymore."

Silence stretched out between them humming with tension. A few weeks ago, they'd been best friends. Over two years ago, they'd been in the same homeroom, and Lance had threatened to beat the skinny kid up for lunch money. It had been his first day in high school, and he had wanted to prove that he wasn't someone to be messed with. That afternoon, Pietro had beaten his head into the concrete and Lance had split his potential victim's lip, and given him a bloody nose. No one messed with either of them, after that, seeing the two beaten kids sitting together by the flag pole, and just laughing as Principal Darkholme gave them detention.

As memories rolled the hallway between them, a knock was heard at the poorly constructed door. It just swung open under the force of the fist. Both boys looked into the light, streaming around a man-shaped shadow.

"Hullo boys," Captain Rogers commented thickly, his voice betraying his lack of sleep. "Thank God you aren't going to make this complicated."

Lance blinked. "What?" he managed, even as Pietro tried to scramble upright.

The policeman walked into the abandoned house. "Well, you gave me probably cause, what with having the kid I'm looking for right here. Stand aside, Lance."

Poleaxed by the fact that the police captain knew his name was something other than 'Rocker Boy' or 'Hey, You' the dark teen stood rooted to the spot for a minute. Then, he narrowed his eyes, and planted both feet solidly on the earth. "Not—,"

"Move over, Lance, will you?" Pietro managed shakily. He was standing now, his wrists held out with melodrama. "He's come to arrest me."

A chink of steel startled Lance out of his daze. The circles were around Pietro's wrists before he could even think, and suddenly the captain was leading the boy away. For a second, in the doorway, the white-haired head turned, and looked back at Lance. The blue glare was enough to say that Pietro wouldn't dream of ratting out his friends. Then a gust of wind caught the door, and slammed it shut, leaving Lance in the dark.

* * *

Characterization and development, ho. For most of you who know Evo Pietro you're probably thinking that all this talk of loyalty is extremely OOC, and yes, while I do employ careful bits of Avengers Quickie, I'm not employing that much of him. I could recite chapter and verse episodes where I'm extrapolating Pietro's responses from, but I'm hoping that everything will make more sense in a larger context at the end of the story arch. I always appreciate reader suggestions for making this chapter longer and better, or guesses as to what will happen.

~ MF


	42. Chapter 42: Spitballs

**Author's Note:** Again, another ridiculously short chapter. I don't get much time to write to myself, it seems, so this chapter got split in half, and you'll get the other half next week. I hope this section is a treat for those of you who have a yen for the Avengers.

* * *

Ten in the morning was a weird time to be in a police station, and Pietro honestly did not feel like talking to the only other occupant in his cell, who looked a little like a white Evan with a stupid skater sock hat, and the awkward attempt at scraggly blond facial hair that characterized the perpetual loser. Pietro knew enough to know that he couldn't grow a beard to save his life, and therefore, he should not try.

The kid sprawled over his section of the bench, sighting on invisible targets with a rubber band that he had dredged out of some deep pocket. Then, he began to flick wadded up balls of paper through the wide bars, rubber snapping and pulling between stiff fingers. Each missile landed in the cooling coffee of the desk sergeant, who was currently dealing with someone important out front, and had left the two boys to their own devices. It was that kind of town.

At last, having run out of paper, the lounging kid turned to Pietro, and gave him the once over. "You're not a regular," he observed.

Feeling his skin crawl at the realization that he was sharing a cell with a kid younger than he was, and yet felt at home enough there to point out that this was Pietro's first time behind bars, the track star tried to scoot away imperceptibly. "Yeah. I'm not."

"I just got out of juvie. They're prolly gonna put me back in," the kid grinned, displaying careless teeth. "You joining me, kiddo?"

Pietro's sneaker skated out from under him, then back in with the nervousness of a young colt. "Dunno. Maybe. Probably."

He could not wait to see his parents walk in, all emotions and high drama. The anger in his father's face, and the tears on his mother's eyes would tell him everything was real and happening, and he had screwed up massively, so there was only this choice left before him. He could take it. He could take covering for John's crazy ass. He could take losing his real life with a future and a place at college, and friends and family.

He could take it, if they told him to take it. Just don't ask him to make the choice about taking it or not. His world was drowning in a fog of choice where he could get into trouble, but not as much trouble. If he swung it right, maybe he'd get into no trouble at all.

"Whatcha do, whitey?" low slung kahki pants and paisley boxers seemed to make people oddly talkative.

Pietro thought for a moment, once again, annoyed by the reference to his hair, as though it consumed his life. Responsibility and Lance's words warred with the fact that no one had said you have to take the fall. Finally, after one agonizing second, he draped himself over the bench, closing his eyes in the way he really needed to, what with not having slept in a long time. "Meh. They have me down for arson, and attempted break-in. You?"

The blond managed to be blessedly quiet long enough to drop into a doze. Then: "Well, a couple of years ago, I got caught while stealing some shit. Now, mostly, it's just for breaking out."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," the rubber band between his fingers twanged like a bowstring. "I'm not the kind of person to be kept out of sight. Ya know? When people start ignoring me, they end up regretting it."

Pietro did not dare open his eyes. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. He did not need to see the grin, cheesy, and menacing at it must be. Just then, the voice of the sergeant saved him, calling out that there was a visitor for Pietro Maximoff.

Shooting up, Pietro saw his rescuer over the officer's shoulder, a fedora and trench coat waiting with grim purpose. He almost collapsed against the bench again. How long? How long had it been since that shadow had glided into his life. Okay, so he had seen, or thought he'd seen the man swooping around yesterday. But why did he—Father have to show up now?

The sergeant unlocked the cell, and Pietro walked the endless four yards to the desk. He maintained a sullen expression, focused on his shoes. The policeman coughed.

"Leave us," Erik Lensherr's voice echoed against the linoleum. "Pietro. Sit."

The teen took over the soft chair behind the guard desk without a second thought. He wanted to rebel. He wanted to swing his feet onto the table, and upset the coffee, make it run in a long stain down the wood just to show that he was Pietro Maximoff, not some dog who would sit when told to sit. All he could manage, however, was an insolent rocking in his chair, and even that subsided.

Father just towered over him, looking down with no visible emotion. Pietro felt small and useless. Helpless under cold blue eyes that told him what to do, and how to sit, and what, in every excruciating detail, was wrong with him.

"I have an offer," Mr. Lensherr told young Maximoff. "Your insistence about Wanda's release into general society will be dropped. Without you, neither Xavier nor his little band of interfering mongrels will be able to move ahead. Because your foster parents won't be able to move ahead. And Wanda will stay where she belongs. In return, this," a gloved hand waved contemptuously at the clean hallway with its row of cells, "will not go on your record. I will give you a future."

Pietro sat, staring at the coffee and the pens, and everything that made the police officer's desk less excruciating than the world of fog surrounding him. Father could make this all go away, couldn't he? With a wave of his hand, and an order: "Let it be done," and then it would be done.

Thoughts dammed up behind the young boy's eyes, racing and crashing into each other. He had a choice in the matter all of a sudden. He could take the rap, go to juvie or jail, or whatever they did to would-be-arsonists. Or, he could go free. He could go free, and the mess would be swept under the rug. Even Marie's stupid friend would get away with near murder. All at the cost of a girl who, when all was said and done, wasn't likely to get out, even if he did fight for it. Even if she did, Pietro remembered those days when she attacked everyone and everything, screaming like an animal. Scaring him, when he was her brother, her twin. He had no idea what went on in her head on the bad days. Perhaps it simply boiled down to the fact that on the bad days, she did not love him.

"I need to think about it," he managed, trying to think hard about his friends' reactions to this proposal, and only coming up with an answer that he did not like.

"I'll return in two hours."

And like that, Erik Lensherr was gone, sweeping away like a stately magician. Pietro wondered vaguely if there were visiting hours for people in holding cells. However, Father had always made his own rules and that would not change. About to get up, and wander around until someone spotted him, he was arrested by the sight of a harried looking man in sunglasses coming through the door that partitioned the cell hallway from the outer offices. The teen gulped. Right now, especially right after Father had been by, Pietro did not want to see the lawyer his real parents had found.

Just as he was about to scoot away, however, the lawyer somehow heard him, or smelled him, or felt something at twenty paces that could identify a teen with a guilty conscience. "Pietro!"

"Hey, Mr. Murdock," the boy sighed, leaning forward on his elbows.

Tap. Tap. The cane guided Murdock to his client. "Pietro, are you supposed to be behind that desk?"

"Meh, I was left here. The old fatso is on coffee break," this time, in the shifting to find comfort, Pietro swung his legs onto the desk. "You want to tell me something? About how I'm still a good kid with a future ahead of me, maybe?"

The lawyer's face remained still for a second, and then he shook his head. "No, I don't think I'm going to play that game with you right now. What you want to do with your anger is your own business. Your parents contacted me. Are you alright?"

"For a guy who just lost everything that mattered? It's like high school. Get placed into a lower track, and you'll never get out. I just been get placed in the lowest," raking fingers through white hair, Pietro flashed back to the grinning kid in the cell. Would life really be bad with someone like that looking out for him?

Yes. Oh freaking yes. Scholarships, bright opportunities, and money were a slowly disappearing dream. Cheery idiots who just might be capable of killing with their thumbs were no comparison to life worth living.

"Who was that who walked past me coming in, Pietro?" Murdock's voice was quiet, and in that moment, Pietro knew that Mr. Murdock knew exactly who that was, and exactly what he, Pietro was.

Shifting in the chair, Pietro remained quiet. The lawyer waited, willing to let the silence that was not actually silence, bubble around them until the boy could no longer stand it. If Lensherr was putting pressure on the boy, there were legal routes that Matt could take to get rid of the problems besetting the boy. Well, one of the problems. He honestly had no idea where to start on the arson and burglary charges, or even if he should. He had been hired to help fight a bureaucratic system that was imprisoning a young lady, not get her brother off the proverbial hook.

Of course, the brother, in a typical show of stubborn teenagery-ness, made no reply along the lines of: "My estranged father is attempting to contact me despite various restraining orders and the fact that he had my sister committed."

Instead, Murdock heard the chair roll back, and something on the desk tipped over. "Can you do anything about this? No. So, if you can't be useful, there's the door."

Puffing happened from behind the lawyer, as someone walked through the swinging door, something jingling by their waist. "Hoi, my coffee!"

"I'll help clean it up," the lawyer began, guessing that the soft tipping had really been Styrofoam and liquid.

The owner of the coffee did not seem to hear him. "Get back to your cell kid, and—," there was shuffling and squeaking from the cup. Then the disgust and exasperation was almost palpable in the man's voice, "Seriously, Barton, don't you have anything better to do than launch spitballs into my drink?"

"No!" someone else called out cheerfully, making Matt smile slightly.

The guard of whatever stripe he was, grumbled off, Pietro's unique gait impatiently gliding after him. Alone, with the clock ticking, Mr. Murdock considered his options. Really, right now he had done all that he could do on this end. The boy was in a foul mood that would happily damn everyone else, and his parents would be the only people safe from that.

Xavier, then. Charles had called, and mentioned that his sources, whatever mysterious people they were, knew about Lensherr's return to New York. Decision made, the lawyer left the small jail.

* * *

So, was this too abrupt? Do you want to see more of Clint? Of course you do. I also would like any Daredevil fans to critque Matt for me. I don't have as good a handle on the devil as I wish I did. I have always been an X-fan, and picked him up around the edges. I liked him in _X-Universe_, and in _1602_, but otherwise, I haven't read much. Honestly, his interaction with Pietro is based on a single issue of _Spiderman_ where Peter goes to the Avengers for help and Quickie is, well, his regular less than helpful self, what with ramming Peter through a wall at super speed. Yeah, I'm basing the supposed reactions of one character by extrapolating from another who is absolutely nothing like him. Go me.

~ MF


	43. Chapter 43: Winning

**Author's Note:** Okay, just so some of my old fans know, I've been wrestling with the urge to clean house on my earliest stories. Some of the stuff I had out there, although the feedback gave me a lot of hints on how to be a better writer, was so bad I did not want it connected with my name anymore. To that end, _Silver Blood, Maze of Glass_ (the problems start with that title) and _Worried about Her_ have been deleted. I'm sorry to the people who had marked them as favorite stories. SBMG suffered from horrible writing, and pretensions of 'deepness.' Despite the fact that it documents my long held obsession with Pietro's character deconstruction, or maybe because of it-I think I'm much better at grasping the subtleties of his character now than I was then-it had to go. WaH was, well, had no plot, and was only kept alive by the fact that so many had enjoyed the original.

I still think that it's a crying shame that the only way I can break into double digit reviews per chapter is if I put romance as one of my main genres. If SSP had been labeled with "one-sided Ryro" "eventual Jonda" "hints of Romy" "unrequited Lancitty" or "awkward Kiotr" chances are I would have received more hits. Or if I hadn't made it clear this was a powerless AU. I had no idea what a turn off this was for some fans when I started the project. Anyway, on with your regularly scheduled fanfic. I hope this is entertaining you all, even if it isn't billed as a romance piece.

* * *

"So," Professor Charles Xavier found his hands steepling in front of his face automatically. He had been advised by Moira and Ororo that it made him look sinister, but the pose was a comfortable one. The fingers formed a triangle, a lovely shape both in geometry and in literary trope, and he felt if he could break down any given problem into a trinity of components, he could solve it. The pentagram was good for that, too, but it was harder to make a pentagram with mere human digits. "You say that young Pietro has made a—ah—a rash choice."

"Setting a building on fire in the middle of the act of robbing it," Matt Murdock supplied helpfully. "Yes. I'm worried on that account, too. However, my worry transformed into outright suspicion and sky rocketed when I went to visit, and heard an old friend of yours exiting. I cannot be certain, of course, but he does have a distinctive way of letting his feet touch the earth."

"Yes, he does at that," Charles gazed sadly at his desk. The nameplate's solid wood back stared back at him. "You think Magnus is putting pressure on Pietro?"

Murdock remained quiet for a moment, listening to the soothing sound of the ticking clock. You had to pick your moment and hope that the words were the right ones. "Yes. I have no idea what kind of pressure, or to what end, but it's just the kind of game that men like him play."

Such an innocent phrase, Professor Xavier contemplated. 'Men like him.' It was that kind of generalization that caused problems. For all Mr. Murdock's cunning, he was still seeing his enemies as monolithic identities to be fought. "So, my hopes in getting Wanda out of the inestimable clutches of Ravencroft all rest on the judgment of one boy?"

Murdock shrugged, his face breaking into one of those silly playful smiles that seemed nearly fearsome under the dark glasses. "You make a great argument for being categorically, excuse me, I don't have a good word for it. You know in Greek there's a verb that translates into something close to: 'to sodomize with a radish?' Anyway, I'd say without some form of help on the moody teenager front, our state could be metaphorically defined by that particular word."

They waited for inspiration for a few seconds, one thinking about the future, the other concentrated fully on the present. Eventually Xavier pulled his chair from behind the desk. "We need to get moving."

"We need that friend of yours. The one who is good with moody children," Matt countered. "We can get information out of Pietro then, and choose the course from there."

"Ororo?" Charles waited as Matt held open the door, and then his chair whirred through it. "Yes. She might help. But, Mr. Murdock, what are our next steps if we fail?"

Tapping his way on carpet, the lawyer frowned. "Define fail. Sorry, but it's not my job to keep Pietro Maximoff out of trouble. In fact, I'm glad it isn't. The boy is annoying. But should Mr. Lensherr put pressure on him to—I don't know," for a futile moment the lawyer's free hand roved in the air trying to grasp at possibilities, "perjure himself at the court hearing, I can prosecute Lensherr. Though, to be honest, if he's back in New York he probably thinks that he has a good deal going with someone. Erik Lensherr is a serious player. When he left, Fisk _owed_ him favors. That doesn't happen—,"

Charles waived away Matt's pet grudge. They passed three students loitering in the great hall. Matt continued walking, but the Professor had to stop, seeing the edge of Piotr's dark sketch pad. "Perhaps another time, Mr. Murdock. I say, Piotr, that's brilliant. I think the shadows are—,"

"Told you it was great," Betsy elbowed Piotr, laughing. "He just needs more ninja on the page. Everyone needs more ninja."

From the couch, his legs still wrapped in a quilt taken from someone's room, St. John was curled up with a book. "Pfft. Ninja are everywhere. You just can't see them. That's how you know-oh-oh," his last words were swallowed by a yawn.

Betsy flowed over the edge of the couch, tickling John's nose with one finger. "Ah-hah! You were up late, weren't you, Mr. Morning Person?"

Blue eyes darted to the bemused professor guiltily. All the effort of sneaking in might be wasted now. "Not saying nothing," John tried, feeling that it sounded childish enough to suggest that he had been reading under the covers with a torch.

Betsy giggled, rolling off the back of the couch once more. "You're ly-ing," she chanted, before peeing at the shadow covered sketch of human anatomy once more. "It's really pretty, Piotr."

"It's only an exercise in light and shadow," the Russian rumbled, embarrassment in every muted syllable. "I will—I would—I asked Scott if I could observe his Akido class. Drawing from life is helpful. Anyone with patience—It is just an exercise."

"A bloody—sorry, Professor—good one," Betsy repeated.

Fishing his pencil from behind his ear, John made a note in the margin of _All Quiet on the Western Front_. 'B. extra flrty w/ P. K vs. B rmntc sub-plot?'

Thinking about the possibilities, he then remembered that not only was Betsy a few feet away from him at this moment, and she was not in the English project (yet, St. John reminded himself), but if she found out about it all, she would kill him. Flat out ninja him to death. Plus, what if it was real drama he was witnessing? Bring that into a school project, and there would be problems. He must make extra certain that his awkward peeks into Lance's head during the second chapter were erased. No one needed their real love lives on parade.

"I really hope that I did not see you defeace a book that was public school property," Professor Xavier cleared his throat.

Grabbing the other end of the pencil, John quickly rubbed out the side note. "No, sir. Only my own books get all marked up."

"Good lad," Charles grinned, turning on the motor of his chair once more. He turned away from the brooding devil surveying the city on Piotr's sketch pad, light by lightning, and caught up with the maroon suited lawyer waiting patiently by the door. "My students, you understand," the teacher tried to justify.

Matt returned the comment with a shrug. "We all have our priorities. Do you have a special car? I can get Foggy to drive us as far as Ms. Monroe's house."

"It's out of our way. I'll call her and hopefully she'll meet us at the police station," Professor Xavier promised.

Murdock nodded, hearing the rustle of cloth, and click of buttons as a cell phone was deployed. The sun remained warm on his skin, despite the chills his ever churning brain created as he processed his thoughts. A gust of wind brought something skittering and scuffing over the roadway, before landing in the grass with an easy swish. Leaning into the cool air, Matt grinned slightly. Strands of a piano being played with inexpert fingers though _Moonlight Sonata_ drifted on the breeze, and the students felt as though they were all around him, as yells and grumbling about Sunday mornings wove in and out of the music.

It was a nice place, this. Too bad there weren't more kids here, causing a ruckus. He knew that Xavier was having difficulty attracting new students. His contacts in New York had grins audible in their voices, at least Pierce did, when they spoke of the influence of this institution. Several parties were interested in the school. Maybe in another year or so this charter would be closed down, and the love contained by the walls would drift away like poor piano playing on the breeze.

Tires crunched on the drive. Foggy must have noticed his partner. Turning to the still mumbling Xavier, Murdock could not help asking: "Is Marko still in jail?"

The cell phone clicked shut, stifling any cheery tunes. "Yes."

"Go to see him ever?"

Wind tossed the light drift of his hair, reminding Matt that he needed to get a haircut. The car pulled to a stop, and a door opened, its catch loud in the blooming silence. With a mechanized drone, the wheelchair started forward. Stopped. "On occasion. It upsets him."

"I was just thinking," Matt grinned again, "his endowment could go into this place. Maybe it could go into it. If he was a free man, perhaps we could talk."

"Heeey, would that talk be going into our overdraft? You shouldn't be cheating respectable men, Matt," Foggy complained jovially. "Or me. I've got to play the personal servant when you're out consulting."

"The thought of fees never crossed my mind, Mr. Nelson," pressing a hand to his torso in well rehearsed shock, Murdock stepped back, struggling to look appalled.

The professor chuckled slightly. "Perhaps. I—Cain Marko is a difficult subject. I'll think about it. He does not approve of my use of our home."

"People can change their minds," Matt shrugged, not personally connected enough to affairs to believe in instant failure.

"One can only hope," the words were a comforting whisper, borne to a red suited lawyer who believed in fighting rather than hope.

Hope was for the people he had to defend, because their hope was not strong enough to protect them from the destruction of precious reality. Xavier, old, white money, was the last person that Matt would have described among his clientele, yet here he was, waiting for Foggy to make awkward arrangements to get the man into their beat up station wagon, all because of a half gypsy girl he had never met. Life and the world were marvelously funny when you let God do what He wanted, Matt reflected. Let God do what He wanted, and he, Matt Murdock, would take care of the rest.

"There you are. Hey, Matt, hop in. I need someone to read me the directions to the police station," Foggy announced, and they both laughed over the aluminum car hood. Old jokes were all the better for being worn out like comfy shoes.

Matt hopped, a step that involved sliding into the open car, which was of course open because Foggy never failed to do the right thing. The seat belt went on with the fumbling of years, while the cane balanced familiarly against his knees, which Matt had always felt were too knobbly for a real man's joints.

The ride to the police station was conducted mainly in a wash of NPR, and Foggy cursing when the program turned to _Prairie Home Companion_. "You'd think that _On the Media_ would be more interesting."

"Featuring the adventures of Guy Noir. Private Eye," Matt taunted, along with the lady on the radio. "Lay off. It was designed for an English major just for me. It could have just been for you, but you didn't want to take the boat. More the fool you."

At an intersection, a motorcycle roared past. From under the helmet, white hair streamed. Charles blinked. "Was that Ororo?"

"Hmmn?" Matt inquired, turning his head in the direction of the back seat. "Could have been."

"You learn something new every day," Professor Xavier mused.

More radio slithered around the three men. Professor Xavier propped his chin on his hands, leaning forward. What would they do if Pietro broke? What would _happen_ if Pietro gave into Magnus' request, whatever that would be? Where was his stake in all of this? As Wanda's visiting psychologist, he wanted to get her out of Ravencroft, and back together with her family, now just Pietro and the Maximoffs.

And Erik's goals? What were they? The answer to this was less fathomable. If only he could have read thoughts, perhaps the answer would suddenly become effable. Maybe the world would make more sense than it did now, filled as it was with perfectly good people doing things that he could only characterize as cruel.

With a jerk that smelled of burning breaks, their ride came to a halt in the parking lot next to the sleek motorcycle that had passed them. Matt exited first, cane describing a forthright arc to the pavement. Letting the feel of pavement run up one arm, he strode into the police station once again, heading right for the duty desk. "Matthew Murdock to see Pietro Maximoff," the young man began before a smug cough to one side made him swing to the right.

"Murdock. I wish I could say that I was surprised to see you here," a snide, coldly familiar voice told him. "Always chasing lost causes, aren't you?"

Matt scowled. "Alistair," he put all the insolent force that he could muster into the name. "I _am_ surprised. I have yet to hear the footfalls of your—_patron_. Have you been let off the leash? This is far from home."

Again the cold smile audible in the attorney's words ran like nails down his spine. "Mr. Fisk had a little favor to an old friend to clear up, that is all, Murdock. I do hope that I have not wasted your time."

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Pause. Door open. Step. Step. Door shut.

Mr. Murdock ground his teeth, thinking of the mechanical coldness and lack of feeling wrapped up in one horrible package. He imagined Alistair Smythe to be a neat man, as tidy as the freezing metal rectangle of a desk that horrifying secretary at his firm used. But that had to be reconciled with a walk where every step was a punishment to the ground for some unspecified wrong. Perhaps just because the ground was _there_, and that was all that was needed for Smythe to want to hurt it.

The buzz of the wheelchair filled his ears, accompanied by Foggy's bouncing gait, and a firmer walk that grew right from the ground far beneath the linoleum under their feet. Ah, the rest of the intervention squad.

Managing to face the counter once more, Matt ran distracted hands through his hair. "Uh. Right. Sorry. Pietro Maximoff?"

"I'm sorry, sir," the voice that answered him was not the fleshy sound of the sergeant from this morning. "Pietro Maximoff has been released. You may speak to Captain Rogers if you wish."

Shock ran through the lawyer, freezing him for a moment, as he tried to process all of his observations in record time. The only answer: Smythe!

Over his shoulder, a melodic voice called out: "Steve! Get over here for a moment. What's going on?"

Matt turned on his heel suddenly, and marched out of the police station. If he was in luck the dog was still gloating in the parking lot. His partner watch Matt go nervously, trying to split his attention between Ororo—in mid-harangue of a startled blue eyed policeman—and the now missing head lawyer.

"Should we go after him?" Professor Xavier murmured.

Trying to peer past the helpful posters that littered the front windows of the station Foggy shook his head. "Matt has things under control. I'm sure."

At the counter, Rogers finally raised a soot smudged finger. "Okay, one, I can't control who does crimes, Ororo, and I saw the kid there. He might be as good as you say he is. Heck, I believe you, he tried to do the decent thing once life and death was on the line, but he broke into a store, and set it on fire. Can we focus on this? Two, I also can't change things when a lawyer shows up with the law twisted every which way around a sheet of paper. If that guy had stayed any longer I would probably be giving him the keys to the station. Now, I still haven't gotten to sleep yet, and I want to be off shift."

Ororo nodded, her cheek sucking in as she bit it in annoyance, trying to calm down. "I understand Steve. Look, the rest of us are going to _The Wolverine_."

"We are?" Foggy mouthed at the professor, receiving the man's replying shrug with skepticism.

"Come along," Ororo offered. "We'll explain everything on the way."

The expression that Steve gave her could have beaten a brick wall for its flatness. "You'll explain—I didn't even know that there was anything going on to be explained! Isn't there anywhere in this town that believes in sanity? In my day crimes happened, and then you arrested them, and then they went on trial, and after that, it stopped being my problem!"

Crossing elegant arms, both Ororo and the afternoon desk sergeant looked up at Steve skeptically. "Really, and how long ago was that, sir?"

"None of your guff, Carter," the captain snapped at his underling, before sighing. His shoulders had slumped down and he looked defeated. "Alright. Alright. Anything is better than hanging around with nothing more to do than entertain the Barton kid. He's looking to put me out of commission, with all of his talk, I swear."

They headed from the police station in a body. Other than a slight mix up, when Ororo told Steve that he could ride pillion on her bike, if he promised not to scratch the paint, a suggestion at which he looked supremely offended, the small group figured out their transportation. Matt was missing, but as Foggy said, he would show up when they needed him. The ride to _The Wolverine_, was short enough that had not Charles been there, they might have walked. Besides, Ororo liked to tease Logan about his hunk of junk not comparing to her Harley.

Ororo took cell phone duty, calling the Maximoffs to reassure them that Pietro was likely coming home. Foggy, excited by the atmosphere, declared it charmingly rustic, which earned him the emnity of the short girl wiping down tables. "I would like to order some beer please!"

"Oh, wouldn't you?"

"Play nice, Exie," Logan growled, already pulling the pints. He glanced at the group. "What's the Maximoff boy done now?"

A bell tinkled. The sunglasses wearing form of Matt strode in, his cane jerking against the hardwood floor. Anger was radiating from the set of his mouth. "Professor Xavier. I have been speaking with one of the _lawyers_ Mr. Lensherr was in contact with. We are to drop the suit."

"What?" Foggy's eyes were round, as the rest of the group simply gaped at their lawyer.

Matt snarled. "The plaintiff, the minor who is the only one with legal rights to ask for his sister's release, has told me and Mr. Smythe that he intends to drop the case. He wrote it out, even, and signed, with reliable witnesses, and everything. In exchange, Captain, I believe you'll discover that you arrested the wrong child. A politely worded threat to erase records is being left on your desk as we speak. A _very_ fast job. He's won, Charles. Lensherr has won."

* * *

For more ranting, check out my profile. Oh, and the comment about "man joints" comes from a friend who was cursing certain artists, specifically Liefeld, for drawing all the X-Force with "huge gross, bulging man joints. Why can't they be more like Daredevil's knees?" Paraphrased from an old conversation circa 1999. Yes, Liefeld could draw teeth with muscles. It was a disturbing art style that I consumed as a given penance for reading comics in the 1990s. Anyway, this statement about people's knees has stayed with me throughout the years. And speaking of the 90s, a shout out to all the 90s Spiderman fans in the audience! We all loved Smythe, didn't we?

~ MF


End file.
